


Lost Letters and Forgotten Friends

by natalee80



Category: Marble Hornets
Genre: Amnesia, Childhood Trauma, Friendship, Guilt, Illnesses, Mental Health Issues, Mental Institutions, Multi, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Past Relationship(s), Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Psychological Trauma, Self-Harm, Sexual Content, Suicide, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-03-23 12:21:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 83,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13787679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalee80/pseuds/natalee80
Summary: A Marble Hornets fanfiction. The story starts about a month after Entry #87 from Tim's perspective.





	1. On The Road

_July 25 th 2014_

 

 

_“This is all your fault. I thought it was me, but you’re the source. You’re the reason any of this happened. Everyone is gone because of you!”_

   Alex’s words echoed around Tim’s mind as he drove along the highway, repeating over and over again like a mantra, each sentence punctuated by a puddle of lighter fluid being squirted onto the floor of his home.

   It had been over two months since that night, yet Tim could remember verbatim every accusation Alex had levelled at him as if it were only yesterday. The reason he remembered those words so vividly, and the reason they tortured him so relentlessly, was that they were true. Alex had been right. It _was_ all his fault. It _hadn’t_ been Alex, he _was_ the source. He _was_ the reason any of it happened. Everyone _was_ gone because of him.

   Truth be told, he had known this for a long time, long before Alex had showed up at his house with his bottle of accelerant and disposable cigarette lighter. But hearing someone else say these sentences aloud to him – and with such hatred and venom – cemented these facts in Tim’s mind, and thus gave them a validity and credibility that had been absent before.

   That was why he hadn’t tried to stop him. Sure, he had rationalized it to himself by pointing out that Alex had a gun and he didn’t, but he knew deep down that was bullshit. Tim, despite his myriad of flaws, was no coward. Alex had only been feet away and had his back turned to him. He could have charged him, tackled him, knocked him out cold with a blow to the head – it’s not like Tim was inexperienced in or incapable of that type of thing – but he didn’t. He hid around a corner and watched while Alex burned his fucking house down.

   And the reason for that was simple. Subconsciously, he felt that he deserved it, he felt that he had to take his punishment. It was like some twisted version of the Catholic notion of confession, penance and forgiveness, only instead of having to say three Hail Marys and an Our Father, the price of Tim’s redemption had been having to watch the guy who killed all his friends destroy almost everything he owned.

_Now, now, Tim, he didn’t kill all of them, did he? Brian, for example..._

   He sharply swerved to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes.

   “Shut up! Just shut up!” he yelled to the voice in his head, pounding his hands on the steering wheel before turning off the engine, clumsily unbuckling his seat belt and shoving it roughly aside. He took hold of the steering wheel with both hands and leaned forward, resting his forehead against the top of it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, trying to push the thoughts of Brian to the back of his mind. He couldn’t handle that, not now.

   After about a minute, Tim leaned back in his seat, then took a pack of cigarettes out of the breast pocket of the red and black plaid shirt he was wearing and put one between his lips. As he shifted his weight in order to retrieve his lighter from the pocket of his jeans, a twinge of pain shot down his right leg. He winced and tried to stretch it out as best he could within the confines of the car.

   “Goddammit,” he muttered through gritted teeth in a mixture of pain and annoyance, the unlit cigarette still dangling from his lips. This always happened when he had been driving for too long. It would probably never heal properly. Four years on and he still walked with a slight limp when it rained. It was yet another thing he had Alex to thank for.

   It was, however, the only event in his life that had made him feel grateful for his second personality, grateful that it was he and not Tim who’d had to experience the terror of being tied up and left helpless on the ground, watching impotently as Alex lifted the block of cement above him and waiting for the inevitable agony as it came crashing down onto his leg. The first Tim knew about it was when he woke up in a hospital bed pumped full of high strength painkillers, looked down and saw his plaster casted leg elevated in a sling. He still had no idea how he got there.

   _“Yeah, thanks for taking that one for the team, buddy,”_   Tim thought wryly. Having said that, if it hadn’t been for his alter ego, he probably would never have been in that situation in the first place. He hadn’t even known how his leg had gotten broken until two years later when he watched the video on YouTube.

   Seeing that video for the first time had been a bizarre experience. Initially, the footage Jay’s camera had captured in that abandoned house had looked kind of amusing, farcical almost; a guy in a white mask charging out of a room and attacking Alex, Jay and Alex subduing the guy by getting him face down on the ground, Alex sitting on the guy’s back while he was bucking and struggling, like he was riding a goddamn rodeo bronco. Then it got a little less funny and a little more weird. Jay passed Alex some old black electric cable, who then proceeded to loop the centre of it around the guy’s neck and used the remaining length to tie his wrists together behind his back. Alex held him there, tautly pulling the length of cable between the guy’s shoulder blades upwards as if he were restraining a trapped wild animal on a leash.

   But the next part was the most disturbing – to Tim at least. Jay’s hand appeared in the frame and reached towards the guy’s head. The mask was removed to reveal Tim’s face. It was kind of surreal. Tim could clearly see that it was _his_ face and _his_ body on that tape, could clearly hear that it was _his_ voice producing the bloodcurdling scream at the end of it, but it wasn’t actually _him_ , and he didn’t remember any of it. Tim found it hard to comprehend.

   “Give me the knife!” Alex had yelled to Jay. When Jay refused, Alex had picked up the cement block and–

   Tim didn’t want to think about it anymore, so he jolted himself out of his traumatic reverie and back to reality, an expression of fear and confusion settling over his face while he unconsciously placed a protective hand over his right knee.

   After a moment, Tim sighed and got out of the car. After stretching his arms and shoulders, he grabbed the lighter from his pocket and lit his cigarette. He walked around to the passenger side and leaned back against the side of the vehicle. The relentless Alabama sun had caused the metal to heat up and the intensity of it took him by surprise as he felt the burning sensation on his back. He swiftly moved away from the car and went to sit on the grass verge at the side of the road.

   “Stupid,” he said, admonishing himself for not realizing beforehand that the car would be hot.

   He decided to take in his surroundings while he smoked, the harsh glare of the sun in his eyes. Trees lined either side of the highway as far as the eye could see and obscured the view of anything further down the road. He got up and opened the car’s rear door, retrieving the map he had bought from the last gas station he had stopped at. After unfolding it, he spread it out on the grass, trying to pinpoint his location on it, his right eye squinting as the smoke from the remaining half of the cigarette he had hanging from the corner of his mouth drifted upwards into it, stinging it. He found the road he was on and traced along it with his finger until he found what he was looking for. He tapped the location on the map in satisfaction and a trace of a smile played on his lips.

   According to the map, the motel was about twenty miles away with a diner a couple of miles further along. Perfect. He refolded the map and got back in the car, stubbing out his cigarette and tossing the map onto the passenger seat. The passenger seat where Jay used to sit. The passenger seat that had remained vacant since that day they had both gone back to Tim’s house and Jay found that fucking tape.

   Images suddenly flashed through Tim’s mind of Jay lying in his house, unconscious and bleeding from the bullet wound in his side before being taken to God knows where by That Thing, the bullet which had been fired from Alex’s gun in Benedict Hall...

    _"Jay followed me to Benedict Hall.”_

    _Your fault._

    _“He only went there because of me.”_

    _Your fault._

    _“I should never have left him alone.”_

    _But you did._

    _“I was trying to protect him.”_

    _You failed._

    _“I should’ve tried harder to make him believe me.”_

    _But you’re a liar._

    _“I should’ve...”_

   “Stop it, Tim. Jay’s death wasn’t your fault. That was all on Alex,” he said out loud, trying to reassure himself.

   He took a deep breath and looked up at the road ahead of him, urging himself to be strong, to stop letting thoughts of Alex drag him down into vicious cycles of guilt, anger and blame. He turned his head back to the map on the passenger seat then returned his eyes defiantly to the road, sweeping his black hair back from his forehead and starting the engine before fastening his seat belt.

   Fuck Alex. Alex was dead. Tim had killed him. With Jay’s pocket knife.

   “How’s that for poetic justice, you son of a bitch?” Tim said, allowing himself a triumphant smirk before taking hold of the steering wheel, putting his foot down on the gas and heading back out on the road.

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #85
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tKRictWEEI
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Isolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim checks into the motel and thinks about his childhood and Jay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #66
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hh58HVegQE
> 
> I will update within a week.
> 
> Enjoy! Thanks for reading!

 

    _"This was my room. I used to live here."_

    

 

_July 25 th 2014_

 

   Tim pulled into the parking lot of the Edgemont Creek Motel, feeling full from the large serving of cheeseburger and fries he had just consumed at the diner down the road. Even though the food had been good and he felt better for having eaten, he always found such places depressing. The sight of parents fussing over their children, groups of teenagers giggling and gossiping, and work colleagues relaxing and chatting after a hard day at the office only served as a reminder to him of how messed up his own life was.

   That wasn't to say that he thought that these people's lives were perfect or that they didn't have problems of their own, but as he caught snippets of their conversations – mundane, casual, light-hearted, _normal_ – he couldn't help but be taken aback at how alien it all seemed to him. There were no intense discussions of supernatural beings, tapes of raw footage from abandoned student film projects, mysterious codes in YouTube videos, masked stalkers, murderous former friends, pills, or the meaning of a circle with an "x" through it that had been daubed on the wall of some godforsaken derelict building out in the middle of the woods. Those had been the topics of conversation for most of his interactions with Jay.

   And yes, he was jealous. Jealous that those other people had each other's company, had their friends and family around them, yet Tim had no one. They were all gone.

    _Everyone is gone because of you._

   All except for Jessica. It would have been so easy for him to stay in contact with her, to call her and ask her to meet up with him and tell her everything. She would understand, she would help him like he had helped her, she would be his companion. But he had always known that doing so was out of the question. Protecting Jessica from That Thing had been his secret priority ever since he found out that his masked self and The Hooded Man had taken her from that hotel room all those years ago.

    _You mean Brian. The Hooded Man was Brian, remember? He was your best friend._

   And it was one of the few things that he had actually succeeded in. Maybe she hadn't exactly come out the other side completely unscathed, but at least she was alive, at least she now had a chance to move on with her life and forget, and Tim wasn't about to drag her back into this mess for his own selfish reasons. He had sacrificed a lot to keep her safe – it had cost him Jay's trust and friendship – and he had no plans to jeopardize that now just because he was feeling lonely, then it would all have been for nothing. It was the only truly noble thing he had ever done.

   But the truth was that he missed Jay. Sure, Tim had resented the intrusion into his life when Jay showed up outside his doctor's office with his video camera under the pretense of finishing _Marble Hornets_ , and their relationship had been strained at first, but they eventually grew to depend on each other, care for each other. They had even practically lived together for those four months when they were on the run from Alex, going from hotel to hotel. Tim had told Jay things that he'd never discussed with anyone before – not even Brian – about his childhood, his illness, his time in the hospital. But this alliance had fallen apart after Jay had found that tape of him limping down the stairs of the hotel wearing his mask while carrying an unconscious Jessica over his shoulder, found out that Tim had been keeping secrets from him, found out that Tim had lied to him _again_. And he had been alone ever since. It had been almost a year.

    

******

 

   The motel consisted of twelve cabins connected to form an L-shape, the exterior walls of which had been painted in a pleasant lemon yellow. The color contrasted nicely with the pale gray of the roof and dark brown doors. Another building, which was separate from the cabins, doubled as the office and a small, basic convenience store, selling things like bottled drinks, candy, potato chips, liquor and cigarettes. The words "OFFICE" and "VACANCY" spelled out in illuminated red neon letters were displayed in the window.

   It seemed like a nice place, so Tim decided to stay for a week. It would give him a chance to rest and recharge his batteries.

   After checking in and buying a pack of cigarettes and a bottle of water from the store, Tim went to retrieve his duffel bag from the trunk of his car. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed a red cargo van with tinted windows that he was sure hadn't been there when he went into the office. He opened the trunk and picked up the bag before turning his head to look at the van, which was parked three spots to the left of his own car in the otherwise empty motel parking lot. He stared at it suspiciously for a few seconds and then simply shrugged, putting his bag over his shoulder and closing the trunk.

   _"Stop being so damn paranoid. It's just a van in a parking lot,"_   he thought to himself.

   Tim had been given cabin number 12, the one at the opposite end of the row from the office building. He pulled the key from his jeans pocket and walked over to the cabin door before letting himself in and locking the door behind him. Hearing the sound of an engine being started up, he couldn't resist the urge to look through the spyhole in the door. After dropping his bag, he put his eye up against it just in time to see the red van reversing out of its spot, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back onto the highway. He breathed a sigh of relief. For some reason, he felt better now it had gone.

   He took a look at the room. It was pretty nice and seemed very clean. A little old fashioned maybe, but he'd definitely stayed in worse. The walls were painted a shade of cream, cluttered with various prints of nature scenes, and the pale wooden floor creaked beneath his feet. The head of the bed was against the left hand wall in the center of the room, adorned with bright pastel-colored bedclothes, which matched the drapes on the window behind him. Adjacent to the bed was a small table with a lamp and a remote control on it, which he assumed was for the small TV perched on a high shelf on the wall facing the bed. The door to his right led to the bathroom and an air conditioning unit was on the wall next to it, which he promptly switched on. There was a small writing desk and chair in the far left hand corner of the room and a chest of drawers and closet on the other side.

   Tim picked up his bag from near the door, put it on the bed and started to unpack. He would never admit it to anyone else, but he kind of liked this lifestyle. Always on the move, staying somewhere different from night to night, visiting places he'd never been to before, going where he wanted when he wanted, away from reminders of the past. It felt liberating, like the ultimate freedom. He had spent too many years of his life stuck in the one place.

    _Locked in the one room..._

   It was just a shame that he had nobody to share it with.

   If he was honest with himself, this was why it hadn't really bothered him all that much when his house burned down. He was pissed about it at first, sure, but he got over it pretty damn quick and the insurance money had come in useful. He had inherited the house from his grandfather – who he never really knew – and had been allowed to move into it in 2005, when he turned eighteen and was released from the hospital. It wasn't like the house had held any sentimental value or fond memories for him, it wasn't like the attic had been filled with his favorite childhood toys, or photos and videos of fun family vacations, holiday celebrations or special occasions.

   _"Well, none with me in them anyway,"_   Tim thought bitterly.

   Tim had been angry about losing his musical instruments though. He had bought those himself, with money that he had worked for and saved. They were things he could call his own, that he had chosen for himself. It was one of the first truly independent things he had ever accomplished, and he had taken a lot of pride in them. The day he brought that first guitar home had felt to him like a representation of his freedom, the freedom he had started to embrace, and the significance of it had stayed with him.

   But he hadn't always felt that way. Unlike many others who had been forcibly hospitalized for a long period of time, Tim bore no resentment or mistrust towards the medical professionals who had been responsible for his care, not even when they had subjected him to ECT, which he had hated with a passion. Quite the opposite, in fact. He revered them and would become very defensive at any perceived criticism of them. He didn't see them as employees of the mental institution he was confined to for ten years of his life, he saw them as his protectors, as his family. After all, these were the people who had taken care of him, fed him, clothed him, gave him medicine that made him feel better, comforted him when he was afraid, played board games with him, tried to make him smile, educated him as best they could, picked him up off the floor and carried him back to his bed after he'd had a seizure, held his hand and stroked his forehead as they waited for him to come to. He loved them, they were his whole world.

   So he had unsurprisingly been very resistant to the idea of being discharged, and had been distraught when the day he had to leave the hospital finally arrived, begging his doctors to let him stay, to not send him away. He had cried all day, from the moment he woke up in his hospital room in the morning to the time he finally drifted off in the bedroom of his grandfather's old empty house at night. His doctors had thought it was what was best for him in the long run, and they had been right.

   The problem was that he had become completely institutionalized. He was eighteen years old and he had never done anything for himself. Never cooked for himself, never chosen which clothes he was going to wear, never shaved his own face, never cleaned his own room, never used a phone, never had to remember when it was time to take his medication. It wasn't that he was incapable of those things, it was just that there had always been some well-meaning person there to do them for him, and he had gotten used to it. He had never been alone.

   And he had found it so difficult to adapt. He felt lost and isolated in a world he was unaccustomed to, that he had been shut away from for a decade, and he began to resent his freedom. He craved the security blanket of routine that the hospital had provided him with for all those years, and burned with a desire for authority, for someone else to take control, to be told what to do, to be able to submit. It was almost sadomasochistic in nature. He attended his outpatient appointments with zeal, often considering cutting his arms, or feigning a seizure or a relapse so he would be readmitted, but he never did. He wasn't a liar back then.

   This eventually changed when his doctor got him a job at a local warehouse. Even though Tim had found it strange and intimidating at first, he soon grew to enjoy working. He was extremely shy and hardly spoke to any of his co-workers, but they were always friendly to him, and never asked him awkward questions about the pills they saw him taking several times a day. The wages had been an added bonus, and he soon started to realize that there were things he wanted to buy, places he wanted to go, things he wanted to do, and that he now had the means and opportunity to fulfil those wishes. He began to cherish his freedom and independence, and that changed him as a person. He became a little more confident and positive and friendly. And while he still missed the people from the hospital, and despite the fact that he was still very introverted, he felt happy for the first time in his life.

   Tim suddenly recalled one time he and Jay were in a motel room and Jay had tentatively asked him what it had been like growing up in a mental hospital, clearly expecting Tim's answer to contain a plethora of horror movie clichés such as cruel nurses, brutal orderlies dressed in starched white outfits and evil deviant doctors who built experimental devices with which to torture their patients. He had even seemed a little disappointed when Tim's reply hadn't borne that scenario out.

   "It was okay. Kinda boring though."

   "What? But weren't you scared?" Jay had asked incredulously.

   "Of course I was. I was only eight years old when they put me in there. I mean, didn't you ever get scared when you were a little kid?"

   "Well, yeah, sometimes but..."

   "There you go, then," Tim had said, gesturing with his palms facing upwards, as if the point he was making was obvious and Jay just couldn't see it. "Sometimes you were scared, sometimes you were happy, sometimes you were sad. But most of the time you were just _okay_ , right?" Jay had nodded slowly. "Well, it was the same for me, only more...extreme, I guess."

   "But I was norm–" Jay had stopped himself before the word "normal" had spilled out of his mouth, but Tim had noticed anyway and chosen to ignore it. "I grew up in a house with my parents, not in a mental hospital with a bunch of strangers who had total control over me, who could do whatever they wanted to me."

   Tim's eyes had flashed with anger and he turned to look directly at Jay.

   "They weren't strangers. And they didn't abuse me, if that's what you're getting at. They were good people, they took care of me."

   Tim had hoped that his harsh tone would sufficiently convey that he wanted to drop this topic of conversation, but Jay's inquisitive nature seemed to render him oblivious to such nuances and he refused to let it go.

   "But what about That Thing? That was where you first saw it, right? In the hospital? And they were wrong about that."

   "Yeah, but you gotta look at it from their point of view, Jay. Imagine you're a shrink, right? And this schizophrenic kid you got locked up in your psych ward tells you that there's a really tall faceless monster wearing a business suit standing in his room every night. Would you believe him?"

   "Guess not," Jay had conceded, a smirk developing on his face.

   "No, of course you wouldn't. You'd say, 'Holy shit, this kid is crazier than I thought. Up his goddamn meds.' And that's exactly what fucking happened. Can we change the subject now, please?"

   "Okay, okay, I'm sorry," Jay had said, giggling.

   "Hey, shut up! It's not funny!" Tim had yelled, throwing a pillow in Jay's direction.

   "I'm sorry, Tim..." Jay had caught the pillow and proceeded to place it over his own face in an effort to muffle the sound of his laughter.

   Tim smiled at the memory as he continued to unpack and place his clothes in the drawers. He had always found it ironic that of his numerous mental health problems, the one thing that had convinced his doctors to keep him locked up for all those years was that everybody thought he was hallucinating something that turned out to be real, but that nobody else could see. It seemed kind of unfair when he thought about it that way.

   _"But since when has my life ever been fair, right?"_ he thought gloomily.

   But he was glad they hadn't believed him, and that they had convinced him that it wasn't real. It had been far easier for him to deal with the illusion that it was all in his head rather than the reality that he actually _was_ being stalked by That Thing.

   He eventually found Jay's laptop at the bottom of his bag and decided to just leave it in there. He was tired and couldn't be bothered going online tonight. Instead, he opened the pocket of his bag and took out his omnipresent orange plastic bottle of pills and put it on the bedside table alongside his water.

   He walked over to the window and drew back the drapes to look out onto the parking lot one last time. It was empty apart from his car.

   He shook his head and rolled his eyes, closing the drapes. He went back to the bed and took one of his pills before lying down. All he wanted to do was sleep and see what tomorrow would bring.

   "Goodnight, Jay," he said to the empty room before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

 


	3. Making Friends And Influencing People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get a little weird for Tim in the motel room.

 

   _“I imagine him kinda cooler, more apathetic, the kind of guy that always has a cigarette in his mouth. And maybe some sort of facial hair, like mustache or sideburns – something like that.”_

    

    

_July 26 th 2014_

 

   Someone was knocking at the door of Tim’s motel room. Three knocks, then a pause. Three knocks, then a pause. Three knocks, then a pause. Over and over again, unceasing. The rhythm was so persistent that it sounded mechanical, unnatural, inhuman.

   Tim opened his eyes and looked towards the door. He got up from the bed, pulled on a T-shirt and pair of jeans, and started walking over to it, arms outstretched and fingers splayed in an effort to guide himself through the darkness of his unfamiliar surroundings.

   When he reached the door, he cautiously looked through the spyhole. Even though the knocking continued, he couldn’t see anybody outside. What he did see, though, was the red van. It was parked directly in front of his room. Terrified, he turned around and pressed his back against the door, breathing heavily, eyes searching the darkness of the room. Three knocks, then a pause.

   “Who are you?!” he yelled through the door. “What do you want?!”

   Three knocks, then a pause.

   He sank to the floor, clamping his hands over his ears and closing his eyes.

   “Shut up! Leave me alone!”

   The knocking stopped.

   Tim stood up and looked through the spyhole again. The van was gone. He breathed a sigh of relief, resting his forehead against the door.

   All of a sudden, the lamp on the bedside table switched on, bathing the room in a yellow hue.

   “Hey, Tim. How’s it going, buddy? Long time no see.”

   Tim spun around at the familiar, friendly voice, his mouth agape and eyes wide.

   He was sitting in front of the writing desk, the chair turned around to face the door. He was wearing the same clothes he had worn in the _Marble Hornets_ audition tape, the hood of his beige hoody spilling out over the collar of his black jacket, dark brown pants and boots, his light brown hair cut short and neatly combed, his smile exposing the gap between his two front teeth.

   “Brian?! What are you doing here? This isn’t possible!” Tim slowly started to walk across the room, his eyes never leaving Brian’s face, his lips spreading into an incredulous smile.

   “Well, I’m here, right? So it must be possible. You don’t look so good, Tim. You feeling okay?” The look on Brian’s face was one of genuine concern.

   “Yeah, I’m fine. I’m just so happy to see you again. I thought you were dead.” Tears started to well up in Tim’s eyes and were soon streaming down his face. “I can’t believe this is really happening!”

   As Tim reached Brian’s chair, he fell to his knees directly in front of him, his head back, gazing up at his friend, eyes wide in awe, his hand raised to touch Brian’s cheek.

   “Oh god, Brian, I...I missed you so much! I...” With that, Tim broke down, burying his face in Brian’s lap and sobbing. “I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry...It was all my fault and I’m sorry! Please don’t ever leave me alone again! You won’t, right? I need you! I need you to stay with me always.”

   “Hey, don’t cry.” Brian started to run his fingers through Tim’s hair and Tim raised his head and looked up at Brian, eyes pleading and desperate, mouth open, breathing labored. “It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay.”

   “I’m so sorry, Brian. I didn’t know it was you, I swear. Do you forgive me? Please say you’ll forgive me.” Tim was becoming more frantic with each sentence, his eyes staring into Brian’s, wildly searching for any sign of affirmation.

   Brian took Tim’s face in his hands, wiping the tears away with his thumbs, then resumed stroking Tim’s hair. He smiled reassuringly at Tim.

   “Well, that all depends.” Tim suddenly felt a sharp pain and an involuntary guttural sound escaped from his throat as Brian grabbed a fistful of his hair, then yanked his head back and held it there, moving his face so close to Tim’s that their lips were almost touching. “What are you gonna do for me?”

   “What?” Tim gasped, feeling confused.

   “Why do you look so scared, Tim? Isn’t this what you always wanted?”

   “Yes.” Tim answered without hesitation in a voice barely above a whisper, unsure of exactly what it was he was agreeing to. But it was Brian asking him, so it didn’t matter. Brian wanted him to say yes, and that was the most important thing of all. He closed his eyes and waited, feeling expectant, apprehensive and excited all at the same time. He eventually felt Brian releasing his hold on his hair, followed swiftly by a hand slapping him hard across the face.

   “Surprise!”

   Tim opened his eyes and screamed in horror as Alex’s face loomed directly in front of him. He scrambled backwards until he collided with the side of the bed. Brian was gone.

   “What the fuck are you doing here?! Where’s Brian?” Tim failed to hide the tremor in his voice.

   “Well, that’s not very nice, Tim. Didn’t they teach you any manners in that nuthouse you grew up in?” Alex’s voice was even, pleasant, but the menacing undertone was evident.

   Alex stood up, a malicious smile plastered across his face. Tim’s eyes fixed on Alex. He looked like he always had; tall, slim, sandy tousled hair framing his refined features, and his glasses giving his face a somewhat angelic and childlike aesthetic. Basically the complete opposite of Tim, who was short and stocky, with thick black hair which he always seemed to be having to push out of the way of his small brown eyes, his nose with the slight bend in the bridge and almost constant five o’clock shadow and sideburns – when he could be bothered to shave, that is – all of which served to make him appear older than his twenty-six years.

   Alex was wearing his blue striped hooded sweater and jeans, holding a large wrench in one hand while resting it on the corresponding shoulder.

   “Where’s Brian? What have you done with him, you bastard?” Tim’s voice was urgent but soft.

   “What’s the matter, Tim? Aren’t you happy to see me too? Haven’t you missed me too? You’ve hurt my feelings, man,” Alex said sarcastically while placing his free hand against his chest, a faux-offended expression on his face.

   “Shut up! Where’s Brian?”

   “He’s dead. You killed him, remember? You chased him over that ledge.” Alex said the words with relish, the smile returning to his lips.

   “So are you. I killed you too, remember?” Now it was Tim’s turn to smile. “I stabbed you in the neck.”

   “Yeah. I did fuck your leg up though, didn’t I?” Alex frowned as if he were trying to solve a complicated problem. “Wait...Your leg? His leg? Whatever. Both, I guess!” He laughed. “You’re such a loser, you know that?”

   As Tim tried to move his arms to get up off the floor, he noticed that something was causing pressure around his neck. He then became aware that his wrists were bound behind his back the way they had been when Alex had tied the other him up previously. Looking down, he saw a length of black electrical cable snaking out from behind his back.

   “What the...How the hell did you do that?” Tim asked, in a mixture of anger and curiosity.

   Alex ignored his question and began walking back and forth in front of Tim, the soles of his sneakers squeaking against the wooden floor.

   “You know, I never liked you, Tim. Not even before any of this shit happened. Wanna know why?”

   “Not really, but I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway,” Tim replied, perfectly deadpan, struggling to free his wrists.

   “You were always so goddamn needy around Brian, it was pathetic. You used to follow him around like a lost puppy, hanging on his every word, always wearing those horrible old clothes the hospital gave you when they kicked you out. You stuck out like a sore thumb in college, everyone knew there was something weird about you. The way you talked, the way you looked, all those pills you took. We all used to laugh at you behind your back, you know. Me, Jay, Sarah, Seth.” He paused for a moment and then smiled. “And Brian.”

   “You’re lying,” Tim said uncertainly, his eyes following Alex around the room.

   “But you know what the most pathetic thing about you is? You’ve spent the last eight years cosplaying as your character from my shitty movie!” Alex laughed. “Did you think we hadn’t noticed? You could barely string two sentences together when Brian first brought you to the audition. You looked terrified whenever anyone who wasn’t Brian so much as spoke to you. I only gave you the role because nobody else showed up. Then about a week after you got ahold the script, you suddenly transformed into some sarcastic snarky jerk who couldn’t keep his goddamn mouth shut. You started to dress different, wear your hair different, act different. Still couldn’t fix what was going on up there though, could ya?” Alex pointed his index finger to his temple and winked, a smirk on his face. “You were a walking joke. That was part of the reason we kept you around. You were so entertaining. Why else would we agree to hang out with a freak like you?”

   “Brian was my best friend,” Tim muttered, more to himself than to Alex. “He liked me. He had a ton of friends. Why would he spend his time with me unless he really wanted to?”

   Alex walked over to Tim and crouched down in front of him, leaning the wrench against the side of the bed and looking Tim straight in the eye.

   “Oh, Tim,” Alex said, sounding genuinely compassionate and placing a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “He didn’t want to spend time with you. He didn’t like you. He pitied you.”

   “No...No no no, that’s not true,” Tim gasped, shaking his head furiously.

   “He told me about how you first met, when those morons in college stole your pills–”

   “Don’t...”

   “–and he found you on the restroom floor–”

   “Please stop...”

   “–twitching and bleeding from your head with drool hanging out of your mouth. That’s one hell of a first impression you made there, Tim.”

   “Stop it!” Tim had never wanted to put his hands over his ears more than he did at that moment.

   “Why? You gonna cry again, Timmy? God, you’re such a fucking pussy.” Alex gave Tim a contemptuous glance before standing up and walking back to the chair, which he picked up and slammed down directly in front of Tim. He then reached over and grabbed the wrench before sitting down.

   “You don’t know shit! He did like me! He was my best friend! He helped me!” Tim was now desperately pulling at the cable tying his wrists together, the skin being rubbed raw.

   “Yeah, he helped you _once_. Then you latched onto him and he was too nice of a guy to tell the poor unfortunate epileptic kid to fuck off and leave him alone. You were a burden to him. At best, he tolerated you. At worst, he despised you.” Alex snorted. “Some best friend, huh? Still, at least you came in useful when he went off the deep end and sent you out in your mask to do his dirty work for him, like the good little lapdog that you were.”

   “Why are you doing this?” Tim had stopped struggling with the cable and was staring vaguely at a spot on the floor between Alex’s feet, tears rolling down his cheeks.

   “Because I hate you. Because I want you to suffer. Because you ruined my life. You ruined all our lives. We were all doing just fine before you showed up. It was all your fault. You brought That Thing to us.”

   “I thought it wasn’t real. I didn’t mean to hurt anybody. I just wanted to make friends.” Tim’s voice was so soft, he almost sounded like a little boy.

   “You spread it to us like a virus and then pleaded ignorance when you saw what was happening, so spare me your woe-is-me bullshit. They should never have let you out of that place, you’re dangerous. You always have been and you always will be. You’re _diseased_.” Alex kept his voice low, calm, cold, ruthless.

   Tim looked up at Alex. He had the wrench laying across his lap. He didn’t care anymore if Alex hit him over the head with it and knocked him unconscious. In fact, he would probably welcome it.

   “Well, at least I never became its bitch like you did.”

   “What did you say?” Alex spat out furiously.

   “You heard me. I’ve had to deal with That Thing since I was eight years old and never once did I consider surrendering to it, never once did I consider sacrificing other people to placate it. I was just a sick kid in a hospital, but I managed to resist it, and I eventually learned how to protect myself and others from it. How long did you last out, Alex? Three, four months maybe? Who’s the fucking pussy now, huh?”

   Alex looked stunned for a few seconds before charging towards Tim and punching him in the face.

   “You shut the hell up!” Alex growled, kneeling in front of Tim while shoving one end of the wrench beneath his chin, pushing his head back. Tim simply laughed, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth.

   “What are you gonna do to me?” Tim sounded more provocative than scared.

   “Could shoot a couple hundred volts through your head. You’d know all about that, right?”

   “Fuck you, Alex. If you’re gonna kill me, then just get it over with.”

   Tim saw Alex raise the wrench up like a golf club, a look of pure hatred on his face. He shut his eyes tight and braced himself for the blow, but it never came. Instead, he felt himself being moved away from the bed and tipped over onto his side.

   “Alex? What are you doing?”

   Someone was behind him, untying the knot fastening the cable around his wrists. He tried to look around to see who it was, but the cord around his neck made it impossible.

   “Who’s there? Brian? Is that you? I knew you’d come back for me. Say something, Brian. Brian?”

   But no answer was forthcoming. Tim felt the cable loosen to the point where he could pull his arms free, it was then removed from around his neck and lifted over his head. He watched as it was dropped to the floor in front of his face. Then he sat up and turned around to see who his rescuer was.

   “What the...”

   First Tim saw the blue jeans, then the tan jacket, then the mask. The white mask with black around the eyes and lips. His mask.

   “No...” Tim gasped breathlessly, his arm shaking as he pointed towards the figure. “You stay away from me.”

   The mask was removed, revealing Tim’s – but not Tim’s – face, with it’s dead-eyed stare and blank expression. The other him then held the mask out and offered it to Tim, slowly approaching him.

   “I said no!”

   Tim sprinted for the door and twisted the handle, but it was locked. He pushed and pulled on the door with all his strength, but it wouldn’t budge.

   “Shit!”

   He turned to the bathroom door, flinging it open and locking it behind him. He leaned back against the door, eyes closed and out of breath.

   When Tim opened his eyes again, he was no longer in the bathroom. He looked in horror as he found himself in his old hospital room, the one he was in before the fire. It was as exactly as he remembered; the light green walls and white linoleum floor, the large metal-framed bed in the center of the room, the barred window.

   He turned around to try to open the heavy wooden door. When it refused to move, he started to panic and bang on the door with his fists, yelling hysterically.

   “Hey! Is anyone there?! Let me out! It’s me, Timothy! Please let me out! This is a mistake! I don’t belong here anymore! I’m better now! Please open the door! I can’t breathe! Please let me out! I’ll be good, I promise! Please–”

   He dropped to his knees as a loud, high-pitched noise suddenly rang in his ears and he started to cough. He turned around and saw That Thing looming in the corner of the room.

   It rushed towards him at impossible speed, arms outstretched, and Tim screamed...

    

******

 

   Tim was still screaming as he transitioned from nightmare into reality, as he woke up on the motel room bed, bathed in sweat and hyperventilating. He looked quickly to his left and saw the chair positioned neatly at the writing desk, just as it had been when he went to sleep the previous night. He checked his wrists and saw that they looked like they normally did, the thick dark red scar across his left one.

   There was no Brian, no Alex, no other him, no hospital room in the bathroom, no That Thing.

   It was all just a bad dream.

   Tim could see the morning sun shining brightly through the gap in the drapes, and he felt relieved that the night was over. This helped to calm him down and he managed to get his breathing under control. He quickly sat up, grabbed his bottle of pills and took one as his mind tried to process the dream.

  _“At best, he tolerated you. At worst, he despised you.”_

   He couldn’t get Alex’s words out of his mind.

   _“But they weren’t Alex’s words,”_ he thought to himself. _“It was my dream. They were my words. Everything Alex said came from me, from my own mind. Is that really my opinion of myself? Of how Brian thought of me?”_

   Somehow, that was even more disturbing than if Alex really had been there yelling insults at him.

   He quickly got dressed and grabbed his cigarettes and lighter from the bedside table.

   _“Fuck you, Alex,_ ” Tim thought. “ _I smoked before I even knew about your shitty movie. So there.”_

   Then he went outside and lit his cigarette, the hot sun beating down on his face. He sucked in the smoke and exhaled with satisfaction, still shaking from the adrenaline rush.

   “Small victories, right?” he said out loud to himself, smiling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #84  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Ru39FMzIvs
> 
> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! 
> 
> I will update within a week.


	4. One Hell Of A First Impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Brian met Tim...

    

    

   _“That’s where I met Brian – the first real friend I remember having.”_

 

 

_September 19 th 2005_

    

   Brian looked around the hospital room. He wasn't used to clinical settings and he found the room a little unsettling, with its whitewashed walls, machines with tubes and wires of various colors and sizes sprouting from them, and the large oversized bed with white blankets and shiny metal rails at either side. He'd been sitting there in an uncomfortable chair for over an hour, the person in the bed lying on his right hand side, facing away from him, wearing a white hospital gown which had been fastened with a bow at the back of his neck.

   There were so many other things he could be doing right now; studying, having dinner, hanging out with his friends, playing a video game, watching a movie. Yet here he was, holding a solitary bedside vigil for a guy he didn't know, who was lying injured and unconscious in the recovery position because of someone else's stupid shit. Great.

   _“Nice guys finish last, right?”_   he thought bitterly, thinking of his brand new yet currently bloodstained pale blue hoody, which was now lying in a crumpled heap in the trunk of his car.

   All that Brian knew about this guy was that his name was Timothy Wright and he had seizures, and he hadn't even known that much until a few hours ago when he happened to be walking past a restroom and heard panicked voices coming from inside.

    

******

 

   “What's wrong with him?”

   “Shit, do you think he's gonna die?”

   “How the hell should I know?! Fuck. What are we gonna do?”

   “He hit his head pretty hard on the sink on his way down.”

   Upon entering, Brian saw four guys. Two standing and one kneeling beside the boy who was on the ground.

   “What's going on in here?” Brian asked.

   At the sound of Brian's voice, the two who were standing turned and ran past him out the door. Brian then walked over to where the other two were. The one on the floor was in a pretty bad way. Eyes rolled back in his head, head slamming against the floor, jaw locked shut, foaming at the mouth, back arched, tensed limbs jerking violently, not to mention the large cut on the left hand side of his head.

   “How long has he been like this?” Brian asked, quickly taking his hoody off and rolling it up before placing it beneath the boy's head.

   “I don't know. Few minutes maybe. He was coughing and then he just dropped and started spazzing out.”

   Brian pulled out his cell phone and called 911, requesting an ambulance.

   “Here, these are his.” He handed over an orange plastic bottle of pills to Brian, who looked at the label. Timothy Wright was his name apparently. The name of the medication meant nothing to him. He quickly shoved the bottle into the pocket of his jeans.

   “Why did you have them?” Brian asked suspiciously, holding onto the rolled up hoody and making sure it didn't come out from under Timothy's head, while simultaneously trying to use it to put pressure on the wound.

   “We sort of took them from his coat pocket this morning. We didn't think they were important. We were following him to see what he'd do. He's kinda weird. We were gonna give 'em back to him. It was just a joke, man.”

   “Hilarious,” Brian said flatly, angrily rolling his eyes and shooting the guy a furious look. “Smart. Real smart. Hope it was worth it.”

   “Tell him I'm sorry, okay?” With that, the guy ran out of the restroom and Brian was left alone with Timothy – who was still convulsing on the floor – to wait for the ambulance.

   “Hold on, Timothy,” Brian said, not really knowing whether the other boy could hear him or not. “You're gonna be all right, I promise.”

    

******

 

   Brian noticed Timothy start to stir, turning over onto his back. He sat up and began to raise his left hand towards the large white adhesive dressing on the now shaven patch of his head, just above his ear. Brian reached over and gently took hold of his wrist.

   “Hey, you should probably leave that alone. They had to put stitches in there. You should sit back too, I don’t think they want you getting up just yet.” Brian stood up and leaned the pillows upright against the head of the bed. “There you go,” he said, feeling slightly embarrassed as Timothy turned his head to look at him with a confused expression on his face before quickly looking away and complying with Brian's suggestions.

   It suddenly dawned on Brian that he was still holding onto Timothy's wrist, and as he looked down at it, he caught sight of the large horizontal scar running across it. Timothy must have noticed him staring because he immediately snatched his arm out of Brian's grasp and placed it against the blankets, concealing the scar from view.

   _“Great,”_   Brian thought, sitting back down in the chair. _“As if this wasn't already awkward enough before.”_

   “This isn’t my hospital. Is my doctor here?” Timothy's voice was soft, timid, breathy, as if he were afraid to speak.

   Brian frowned, he was a little unsure of how to answer.

   “Um...I don’t know. Sorry.”

   “You don’t look like a doctor. Who are you?” Timothy glanced up at his face for a split second before returning his gaze back down to his hands, which he kept folded in his lap.

   “My name’s Brian. And you’re Timothy Wright, right?” he said smiling, the presence of the two adjacent homophones amusing him. “How are you feeling?”

   “My head hurts. Wait a minute, how do you know my name?”

   Timothy briefly looked up again as Brian pulled the bottle of pills from his jeans pocket and gently rattled it before putting it down on the bedside cabinet.

   “It’s on the label. Good to meet you, Timothy.” He offered out his hand across the bed, and Timothy accepted it, not once looking at Brian during the handshake. “You know, Timothy’s a bit of a mouthful. Can I call you Tim?”

   “If you want to.”

   “Great! Tim it is then. How about I call your mom and dad for you? Tell ‘em you’re in here so they can take you home?” Brian asked, holding up his cell phone.

   “I live in my grandfather’s house.”

   “Do you want me to call him then?”

   “He’s dead.”

   “Oh. Sorry.” Brian chewed his lower lip nervously. He usually found it easy to get along with others and strike up conversations with people he didn’t know, but Tim was different. He seemed so shy, he wouldn’t even look at him. But the guy did have a head injury and had just had a seizure; maybe he wasn’t usually like this. “Well, surely there’s somebody I can call? A friend, maybe?”

   Tim shook his head. “Don’t have any.”

   Brian rolled his eyes and ran his hand through his hair. He really didn’t know how to deal with this. He was an eighteen-year-old college kid, not a nurse. But he felt so fucking bad for this guy. He wanted to help him.

   “May I ask you a question, please?” Tim suddenly said, breaking the awkward silence.

   “Sure you can, buddy. Shoot.”

   “Why did you have my pills in your pocket?”

   This took Brian by surprise, as he had assumed that Tim knew what had happened seeing as he hadn’t asked sooner. He took a deep breath. This was going to be tough and he didn’t know how Tim would react.

   “Some guys in college decided to play a prank on you. They took your pills out of your jacket pocket and hid them from you. I’m not defending them or anything – they’re total assholes – but I don’t think they realized what would happen if you didn’t have them. They just thought they were vitamins or something.” He made excuses for them for Tim's sake. He figured it would be easier for him to handle the fact that he was the victim of a misguided mischievous stunt perpetrated by immature idiots, rather than some deliberate malicious ploy designed to trigger him into having a seizure. “Do you remember any of that?”

   Tim slowly nodded his head, wincing a little as he did so.

   “I remember losing them this morning. I thought I’d just dropped them somewhere. I didn’t know they’d been stolen. I was just going to try to get through the day without them and then go see my doctor after classes, but...” Tim trailed off. “Where did you find them?” Tim’s voice was so quiet and calm, Brian found it kind of eerie.

   “One of them gave them back to me in the restroom and told me what they did. They feel real bad about it. He told me to tell you he's sorry.”

   “Restroom?”

   “Yeah. You were on the floor having a...you know. One of them said you hit your head on the sink when you...fell.”

   For the first time, Tim raised his head and looked Brian straight in the eye.

   “You...saw me? They saw me? When I was...like that?” Tim’s eyes filled with tears which soon began to roll down his cheeks. His face flushed red with shame, and he turned his head away from Brian.

   “Yeah. Your head was bleeding too, so I called the ambulance. I asked them where they were taking you and drove here to see how you were and show your pills to the doctors.” Brian frantically scoured his mind for something to say to make Tim feel better, because he just seemed to be making things worse right now. “There's no need to be embarrassed or anything. I mean, it's not like you can help it. Does it happen to you a lot?”

   Tim lowered his head again.

   “Why would you do that for me? You don’t even know me.” Tim suddenly raised his eyes and looked straight ahead of him, as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Did I look funny, is that it? Were you laughing at me? You and those other guys? Are you waiting here to see if I do it again so you can tell everyone about it and make fun of me? Are you–”

   “Tim, stop. I wasn’t laughing at you, I swear. I was just worried about you.” Brian put his hand on Tim’s forearm, really at a loss for what to do. “You needed help, man, I couldn’t just leave you there. And I won't tell anyone else, I swear. And you can bet your ass those other guys won't. I'm one of the good guys, okay? You can trust me, I promise.” Brian smiled at Tim, sliding his hand down Tim's forearm and taking hold of his hand, squeezing it, trying desperately to convince him. Tim looked back at him, a guarded expression on his face, withdrawing his hand from Brian's.

   Tim suddenly put both hands over his face and started to sob, drawing his knees up to his chest.

   _“Shit,”_   Brian thought. _“I really am just making things fucking worse. What the hell am I supposed to do here?”_

   “Oh god, I'm so sorry," Tim blurted out from behind his hands.

   Brian stood up and leaned over the bed, awkwardly putting his right arm around Tim’s shoulders, while robotically patting his arm with his other hand, a nervous expression on his face.

   “Hey, don’t cry. It’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay.”

   “Do you forgive me?”

   “For what? Yeah, sure, whatever.”

   “Thank you.”

   After about a minute, Tim removed his hands from his face and became quiet again.

   “Are you all right now?” Brian asked tentatively.

   Tim wiped his face with the back of his hand, his eyes red and puffy, still sniffling uncontrollably.

   “Yes, I’m fine. Thank you for your help. I’m sorry to have troubled you. I’d like to be left alone now, please.” The words came out in pure monotone.

   Brian lifted his arm from around Tim’s shoulders and straightened up, feeling guilty at the sense of relief flowing through his mind while suppressing it from manifesting into a sigh.

   “Are you sure? Will you be okay by yourself?” He looked down at Tim, the white dressing on his head contrasting harshly against the black of his hair.

   “Yes, thank you. Goodbye, Brian.” Tim then flattened the pillows, lay back down in the bed and turned onto his side, pulling the blankets up over his shoulders.

   “Bye, Tim. Take care of yourself, okay? I'll see you around, I guess.”

   Brian walked over to the door and was just about to grab the handle when he turned back. He couldn’t leave him. He felt kind of responsible for this guy now. He was hurt and sick and nobody seemed to care about him. And he seemed like a nice person, even if he was a little odd. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, hoping he wouldn't live to regret what he was about to say next.

   “Hey, Tim. How about I go ask someone when they’re gonna let you out of here, then we could go get a coffee and hang out for a while or something? If you wanted to.”

   Tim sat up once more and looked at Brian, an uncertain expression on his face.

   “You want to hang out? With _me?_ ” Tim said, disbelievingly.

   “Sure. Why not? Would you like that, Tim?”

   Brian smiled at him.

   Tim smiled back.

   “Thank you, Brian. I’d like that very much.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #66  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hh58HVegQE
> 
> This was supposed to be part of Chapter 3 but it was too long, so I hope nobody minds if I give it its own chapter and post the next chapter later in the week.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!


	5. American Beauty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim makes a new friend.

 

    

    

    _“I can function like a normal human being for once in my life._ _”_

    

    

_July 26 th 2014_

    

   After Tim had finished his cigarette, he went back into the room and took a shower. He stayed in there for about a half hour, just letting the warm water wash over him, hoping it would eradicate the memory of the nightmare that was still fresh in his mind. 

   He thought back to when he first met Brian and he honestly didn't know whether their friendship had just been based on pity or not, but it had sure as hell been spawned by it. Not that it really mattered anymore. Brian was dead and he was never coming back. But the circumstances of their first meeting had made it all the more hurtful for Tim when almost seven years after those guys in college stole and hid his pills, the Hooded Man did the same thing to him. The only difference was that he filmed the consequences and uploaded the video to YouTube for the world to see.

   That was the first time Tim had seen clearly what he looked like when he was having a seizure and he had been mortified by it. It was the only video on Jay's channel that he had never been able to watch a second time. Finding out later that the Hooded Man had been Brian all along – and that it had ultimately been Brian who was responsible for posting that footage of him online – had felt to Tim like one final kick in the balls after having the shit beaten out of him.

   But it wasn't _really_   Brian who had done that. Brian had stopped being Brian that day in the summer of 2006, when Alex took him to the ruins of Tim's old burned-out hospital.

   _“Tim? Alex? Seriously, come on!”_ That was the last thing the real Brian ever said to him, as he sat there coughing in the corner of a room in the charred remains of the place he had called home for so many years. And Tim couldn't even remember it, the only witness to Brian's final words being the microphone on Alex's video camera. 

   Because that was when Alex gave Brian to That Thing. And it had consumed him, twisted his mind, corrupted him, turned him into a shell of his former self. All traces of the boy who had held Tim's hand and smiled at him in that hospital room that day removed with almost surgical precision and replaced by a bitter, obsessive man driven by anger, hate and a thirst for revenge. It had broken him.

   Tim's medication had always served as a kind of shield against it. As long as he took it, he could withstand what it did to him and come out of it pretty much unchanged – apart from feeling like shit for a few days and the odd lost memory – and he had developed something of an immunity to it after all those years. After all, it was difficult to break someone who had been damaged and broken since the day he was born. It was almost paradoxical. The aspects of Tim that had made him the most vulnerable and weak amongst his peers morphed into his greatest assets when faced with That Thing, and gave him the ability to fight it when others couldn't. But for someone like Brian, who had led a somewhat charmed life up until that point, the experience had been brutal. He never stood a chance.

   Brian and Tim had actually only known each other for less than a year, and it irked Tim that his other self's relationship with the Hooded Man had lasted much longer, even though that relationship had merely been one of master and servant, of convenience, of exploitation – not friendship. But at least the two of them working together had managed to save Jessica's life, the one good thing to have come out of it all.

   But that was the past. Brian was dead and Tim had tossed his mask into the dumpster before saying goodbye to Jessica. There was no going back.

    

******

 

   Feeling better after his shower, Tim decided to have a quick look online to see if there was anything interesting in the area that would be worth visiting. Just as he was about to retrieve Jay's laptop from his bag, he suddenly heard the sound of a car engine refusing to start. This was repeated a few times before a car door was opened and then slammed shut. Feeling curious, Tim grabbed his cigarettes and lighter and went outside to investigate.

   The blue hatchback was parked next to his own car, with its hood raised up. But that wasn't what caught his attention. What did was the person he assumed to be the car's owner, who was standing and looking down at the exposed engine while holding a bottle of coke to her forehead, as if trying to cool herself down with it.

   Lighting a cigarette, Tim walked over to her. She was a little taller than him, and very slim, her skin lightly tanned. She had blonde wavy hair that came down to just below her chin and she was wearing a lot of makeup, which made it difficult for him to determine how old she was. He guessed around his age, maybe slightly older. She was dressed in a frilly, bright blue sleeveless blouse over a short zebra print skirt, which ended about a third of the way down her thigh, and wore red sneakers on her feet.

   “Goddammit,” he heard her say, her voice slightly deeper than he'd expected.

   While Tim was someone who had always been rather indifferent to things like dating and sex, there was something about this woman that drew him to her, that made him want to talk to her.

   He thought she was beautiful.

   “Hey,” he said hesitantly. “Car trouble?”

   “Yeah,” she replied. “I don't know what's wrong with the stupid thing. I just stopped by here to get a drink from the store and now it won't start up again. Could you maybe take a look at it for me?”

   “Um...Sure thing.” Not that he knew anything about cars, except for how to drive them, put gas in them and, at a stretch, change a tire, but he decided to try to live up to his gender stereotype anyway to impress her.

   Placing his cigarette between his lips, he leaned under the hood and made a show of making sure random tubes were connected and various nuts were properly tightened. After about thirty seconds of this charade, he stood up, shaking his head and sighing.

   “Nope, I'm sorry. You're gonna have to call someone. You could ask the manager, I guess. I don't have a clue.”

   “Oh, well. Thanks anyway. I'm Lucie, by the way. With an 'I-E', not a 'Y'.” She extended her hand out to him.

   “Tim,” he smiled, shaking her hand. “With a 'T', an 'I' and an 'M'.” He snickered nervously at his own unfunny joke, but was pleasantly surprised when Lucie laughed too, the red lipstick on her full lips accentuating her perfect white teeth.

   “Pleasure to meet you, Tim. Mind if I have one of those?” She pointed to the pack of cigarettes which was protruding from the breast pocket of his khaki shirt.

   “No, not at all.” He took the pack out of his pocket and flipped it open, offering it to her. As she leaned towards him to take a cigarette, the flimsy material of her blouse fell forward, exposing her cleavage, and Tim had to force himself to avert his eyes. When he looked up at her again, he noticed she was laughing at him, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

   Lucie put the cigarette between her lips, and it took Tim a few seconds to realize that she was waiting for him to light it for her. He reached down into his jeans pocket and clumsily pulled the lighter out, making it catch on the denim and slip from his fingers.

   “Shit...” Tim muttered to himself as it clattered to the ground. As he knelt down to pick it up from the hot asphalt, Lucie took a step closer to him so that her long legs were now directly in front of his face, the left one bent slightly at the knee. He slowly traced up her body with his eyes, grinning, until they reached her face, which was smiling back down at him.

   _“Fuck it,”_   Tim thought. _“She's obviously doing this on purpose, and I never claimed to be a gentleman."_  

   He stood up and held the lighter out towards her. As he ignited the flame, Lucie raised her black-rimmed, blue eyes and looked directly into Tim's. She held his gaze while he lit the cigarette, leaning her head back as she removed it from her lips and inhaled deeply.

   “Thanks,” she said, smiling, the smoke drifting from her mouth as she spoke.

   “No problem.” Tim swept his hair back from his forehead and stared at her, rubbing the back of his neck. He knew she was teasing him – he wasn't stupid or naive – but he kind of liked it. It was fun, and flirting with her was making him feel like a normal human being for once.

   _“Probably won't last,”_   he thought bitterly.

   “So, you know where a girl can get something to eat around here?” she asked suddenly, snapping him out of his musings.

   “There's a diner, but it's a couple miles down that way,” he replied, indicating the direction with the two fingers between which he was holding his own cigarette.

   “You hungry, Tim?” Lucie closed the hood of her car and opened the passenger side door, taking out a small red backpack before slamming it shut and locking the car.

   “I guess.”

   “That your car?”

   “Uh-huh,” he nodded.

   “How about this. You give me a ride to the diner and I'll buy you breakfast.” Lucie moved close to Tim again, standing right in front of him, tilting her head slightly, pouting her lips as she exhaled the smoke. “What do you say?”

   “Aren't you worried about getting into a car with a total stranger out in the middle of nowhere?” he asked curiously, frowning.

   “Should I be? You ain't one of those crazy people, are ya?”

    _Absolutely batshit._

   “No.”

    _Liar._

   The word had come out in a higher pitch than Tim had intended, but Lucie seemed satisfied with his answer anyway.

   “Ain't nothin' to worry about then. So what do you say?” She stretched out her arms and rested her wrists on his shoulders, looking into his eyes, smiling slightly.

   Tim looked back at her, a smirk spread across his lips. This whole situation felt kind of surreal to him, but he was enjoying himself too much to overthink it.

   “Why not?” Tim flicked his cigarette butt away and gently lifted her arms from his shoulders. “I'll just go get my keys, wait here for me, okay? I'll be back in a minute.”

   He headed back into his room, quickly grabbing his wallet and car keys from the bedside table and stuffing them into his pockets. Then he looked at his bottle of pills. He briefly considered leaving them behind so Lucie wouldn't see them – or hear them rattling loudly in his pocket when he walked – but dismissed the idea. He couldn't risk it. Instead, he unscrewed the cap and poured six of them into his hand, swallowing one dry and dropping the other five into his jeans pocket. He put the cap back on the bottle and left it on the table.

   Tim then ran into the bathroom to look in the mirror. He picked up a comb and quickly styled his hair into a slightly neater side parting than before. Then he noticed his scarred wrist in the mirror.

   “Shit...” He quickly rolled down the sleeves of his shirt, fastening the buttons at the cuffs. He would probably be too hot, but he'd just have to put up with it. He couldn't be bothered making up an excuse to have ready if Lucie asked about it.

   “Nope, not fucking crazy at all,” he muttered to his reflection in the mirror, a mirthless laugh escaping from his throat. With that, he exited the bathroom and headed outside, taking the key from the inside of the motel room door and locking it behind him.

   As he turned around, he half expected Lucie to no longer be there, like she was some kind of cruel mirage his imagination had cooked up to raise his hopes and then dash them again. But there she was, standing by the passenger side door of his car, now wearing a pair of pink-framed sunglasses. She waggled her fingers at him in a small wave.

   “You ready, Tim?” Lucie asked.

   “Yeah,” he replied, pulling his car keys from his pocket and pressing the button to unlock the car. He walked around to the passenger side and opened the door for her. Noticing the map still laying on the passenger seat, he picked it up and tossed it in the back.

   “Thanks,” she said, getting in the car and placing her bag on her lap.

   Tim shut the door after her and then got in the car himself.

   “I'm really hungry,” Lucie said to him. “I'm looking forward to this.”

   He looked at her, unaccustomed to the presence of another person in the car with him. The fact that she was a beautiful woman made the situation even more unusual.

   It felt good.

   “So am I,” Tim replied sincerely, smiling at her.

   He started the engine and steered the car out of the parking lot, turning left onto the highway.

    

******

 

   Tim and Lucie sat facing each other in a booth by the window. He kept sneaking glances at her over his coffee cup every time he took a sip out of it. He couldn't get over how pretty she was, but he didn't want her to catch him staring at her. She was idly stirring her coffee, her sunglasses now resting on top of her head, pushing her hair back from her face.

   He thought back to when he was sitting there the previous day, feeling lonely and envious of the other customers and wanting somebody to talk to. But now there actually was someone sitting opposite him, who had invited him, he was a little lost for words and felt momentarily relieved when Lucie took it upon herself to start up the conversation.

   “So, what are you doing around here?”

   He sighed softly. How was he supposed to answer that? Tell her that all his friends were dead and his house had been burned down? Tell her he was just drifting from place to place while not daring to stray too far from his doctor's office in case he ran out of meds and needed to get his prescription refilled? Tell her he was trying to run away from the malevolent, supernatural abomination that had been stalking him since he was eight years old? No, of course not. So Tim did what he always did – he lied.

   “I'm on vacation. I...came into a little money, so I'm just traveling around a little bit. I'm headed down to Florida, actually. I have friends there. From college. Brian, Jay and Jessica.” He looked down at the table, hoping she wouldn't ask him to elaborate. “What about you? What are you doing here?”

   “I'm on my way to visit my sister. She's just moved out of my dad's house and got her own place around here. This is my first time going there, so I don't know this area very well.” Lucie ran her finger around the rim of her coffee cup while she was speaking. She looked up at him and smiled wistfully. “I don't ever want to move away. I grew up there, I got so many good memories from being a kid that I don't want to leave behind. I was so happy. You know what I mean? Where are you from? What was your childhood like?”

   _“Fuck,”_ Tim thought, wishing the waitress would hurry up and bring their food over. His earlier bravado seemed to have deserted him and now he just felt very nervous in her presence. Casual flirting in a parking lot was one thing, but sitting down for breakfast with her when she was innocently asking him questions about topics he really didn't want to discuss was a whole new ball game. He fixed his eyes on the teaspoon on the table, licked his lips and took a deep breath.

   “I grew up in a...a big house down by the ocean. It was awesome, I got to go to the beach every day and...I had lots of friends. My parents...they were _really_ rich. My dad was a businessman and...and he always had to go to New York for important meetings and stuff...but he always made time for me, sometimes he even took me with him and...he taught me to play guitar. And um...My mom was real pretty...she...she was a nurse and she took real good care of me. And...they used to take me on vacations to Europe all the time, to...to Paris...and London and...Rome. But...they died.”

    _You. Fucking. Liar._

   “They loved me.” He looked into Lucie's eyes as he said the last part and nodded slowly, as if he were willing it to be true.

   “I'm sorry,” she said, placing her hand over the back of his own. “How did they die?”

   His eyes quickly darted to the window, looking out onto the parking lot.

   “Car crash.”

   He found it darkly amusing that he hadn't even been able to give his own make-believe idyllic upbringing a happy ending.

   Tim suddenly felt guilty about lying to her, but what else could he have done? Sure, he could have made the lie less outlandish, but it would still have been a lie.

   _“That's right, justify it to yourself, you asshole. New York, Paris, London and Rome? I never even crossed a state line,”_ he thought, feeling a little foolish.

   “What's your family like?” he asked her, genuinely interested.

   “My mom died a long time ago, when we were really little. I don't really remember her. My dad's really cool, he's a carpenter. He's really good at making things. Our house was always full of tables and chairs and planks of wood and stuff like that, you know, stuff that he was making for other people. I used to like helping him when I was younger, but I probably just got in his way. Not that he'd ever say that to me though.” She laughed slightly, and Tim smiled while he listened to her tell her story. “My sister's two years younger than me. She's totally different to me though. She's kinda quiet, likes books and stuff, you know? She was real shy when she was younger, so she used to write letters to people she'd never met. You know, like a penpal? That's kinda weird, huh?”

   “I don't know. I guess,” Tim replied, a little surprised by the question. Tim didn't really think it was weird, people did the same thing online all the time these days, but he didn't want to openly disagree with her.

   “Well, I always thought it was a little weird anyway. Just not my kind of thing, I guess. But different strokes, or whatever.” She waved her hand dismissively, as if shooing the subject away.

   The waitress finally brought over their food – she had waffles, he had bacon and eggs – and Tim ate his in silence, just letting Lucie talk about her father, her sister, places she'd been to, places she wanted to go to, which bands and movies she liked. He looked up occasionally and nodded, just to let her know he was paying attention.

   “Hey, thanks a lot for breakfast,” he said, after they'd finished eating. “Are you sure you don't want to split the check? I probably would have been coming here anyway.”

   “No, we had a deal, remember?” Lucie smiled at him. “I wouldn't even be here if it wasn't for you.”

   Tim couldn't be certain, but he thought he detected a slight change in her tone as she said that last sentence. But the expression on her face remained the same, so he just shrugged it off.

   “Well, if you insist. Thank you.” He reached into his pocket and stealthily brought out one of his pills, managing to put it in his mouth and swallow it without her noticing. “What are you gonna do about your car?”

   “Go back to the motel and call my dad, I guess, tell him what happened. He'll know what to do. I'm not in any kind of a rush, though. I'm having a real nice time here with you, Tim.” She reached over the table and tapped his arm. “You're a good listener, you know that? Shall we have another cup of coffee before we go?”

   “Sure,” he replied, looking into her eyes in search of some sign of insincerity, but he found none. “I'm having a nice time with you too.”

   Even though Tim felt too hot and was uncomfortable, he didn't want to leave either. He knew now why he had felt nervous before.

   _“I am a good listener,”_   he thought. _“That's exactly what I am."_  

   He hadn't wanted somebody to talk to, after all. He had wanted somebody to talk to him.

   Lucie took a small mirror and lipstick out of her bag and reapplied it to her lips. She then looked up at Tim and smiled.

   “Do I look okay?” she asked him.

   “You're beautiful, Lucie,” Tim replied.

   And he was telling the truth.

    

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is curious, I based Lucie's appearance on Alabama Whitman (Patricia Arquette) from True Romance.
> 
> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #59  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLbp-1NjZsM
> 
> I will update within a week.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	6. Secrets And Lies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Lucie spend the day together.

 

    

    

    

    _“WHO ARE THE LIARS_  
_ARE YOU ONE OF THEM  
_ARE YOU BOTH OF THEM”_  _

_July 26 th 2014_

 

   After Tim and Lucie arrived back at the motel, he went back to his room to give her some privacy while she called her father. He lay down on his bed and closed his eyes. He felt quite contented, perturbed only by the nagging memory of the stupid lies he had told her in the diner.

   It was a recurring theme for Tim. No matter how many times he had bullshitted his way through a conversation only to have it subsequently blow up his face when he got found out, he never seemed to learn and kept repeating the same mistake over and over again.

   But he couldn't control it. He was literally a compulsive liar. What started off as a simple and understandable need for self-preservation and privacy snowballed into outright fantasy. The words just seemed to fall out of his mouth without him even realizing it, stemming from some desire for acceptance. But he decided he'd had enough of it. It was too hard having to keep track of every lie and not contradict himself further down the line. Conversations became cumbersome and tiring, and this ultimately defeated the purpose of gaining acceptance and having company in the first place.

   So Tim made a resolution to himself. He wasn't going to lie to Lucie anymore. If she asked him a question, he was going to answer truthfully. What was the worst that could happen? She'd call him a freak and tell him to stay the hell away from her? He was probably never going to see her again once she got her car fixed anyway, fabricated past or not. He still planned on hiding his pills from her though. Keeping secrets wasn't the same as lying, after all.

   After about ten minutes, there was a knock on the door. When Tim opened it, Lucie was standing there smiling.

   “Say hi to your new neighbor!” she exclaimed, dangling a motel room key in front of his face.

   “What?” Tim muttered, frowning in confusion.

   “My dad's too busy to come pick me up today, so he told me to get a room for the night and he'll head down here tomorrow. I got number eleven. Lucky, huh?”

   “Yeah.” Tim was a little taken aback. He had only expected to be able to spend a few hours with her at the most, but now he had a whole day. “That's great.”

   “Will you be okay getting my suitcase out of the trunk for me? I mean, with your arm and everything.”

   “My arm?” He didn't have a clue what she was talking about.

   “I saw that scar on your arm when you lit my cigarette before. I thought you'd had surgery on it or something.” As she looked into his eyes, his expression betrayed him and he could see the realization dawning on her face. “I'm sorry. Does it hurt?”

   “No, it's old. Doesn't hurt.” Blushing slightly, he gestured for her to lead the way and followed her outside to her car, trying to think of something to say to divert from the awkward situation. “Have you called your sister yet?”

   “What? Oh, don't worry about her, she'll be fine. I'll do it later.”

   She opened the trunk and Tim reached down and picked up the large red suitcase; it was heavier than he'd expected.

   “Jesus, what the hell do you have in this thing?” he said, carrying it quickly to the door of cabin number 11 before putting it down and exhaling loudly.

   Lucie smiled and conspiratorially tapped the side of her nose with her finger.

   “Just girls' stuff, nothin' for you to concern yourself with.”

   She unlocked the door and gestured for him to bring the suitcase inside. The room was identical to his own. Lucie sat down on the bed.

   “What do you want me to do with this?” Tim asked.

   “Just leave it there, I'll sort it out later. Thanks.”

   “Um...Okay, I'll leave you to it then. Bye, Lucie.” He started to head out of the door, thinking that was the last he was ever going to see of her.

   “Do you have any plans for today, Tim?” she suddenly asked.

   “Not really. Why?”

   “The manager said that there's a little trail round the back of the motel along the creek. I thought it might be nice if we went for a walk. What do you think?” She looked up at him smiling.

   Tim wasn't sure. He didn't exactly have good experiences walking along trails, they reminded him of Rosswood Park and Jay and That Thing. But he did want to spend more time with Lucie and didn't want to offend her by turning down her offer. He was also a little surprised and grateful that she still wanted to be in his company.

   “Yeah, okay. When do you want to go?”

   “In about a half hour? I'll come let you know when I'm ready, okay?” She stood up and walked over to him. “Maybe we could have a few beers tonight or something, if you wanted to.”

   “I don't drink,” he said.

   “Well, whatever. We can drink coke, I guess.”

   “Great. I'll see you later, Lucie.” He smiled at her before leaving.

   When he got back in his room, he immediately changed from the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing into a red T-shirt.  He was too fucking hot.

    

******

 

   When Tim opened his door to Lucie a little while later, he barely recognized her. She was wearing denim shorts, a yellow T-shirt and no makeup. Her hair was in pigtails and she was carrying her red backpack on her back.

   “You ready to go, Tim?”

   “Yeah, I think so,” he said, having refilled his jeans pocket with pills before she arrived. “You look different.”

   She laughed.

   “Yeah, I guess I do. So do you! You look better in red,” Lucie observed.

   “Let's go then,” Tim said, picking up his lighter and cigarettes and heading out the door.

   They walked around the back of the cabins and soon found the entrance to the trail. It wasn't very well-maintained, but still pretty nonetheless, with the trees on either side of the path joining high above them in the center to form a luscious green arch. Tim found the rippling sound of the creek and rustling of the leaves very relaxing and his mood started to lift. After they had been walking for about twenty minutes, Lucie noticed a fallen log that was facing the creek and they went to sit down on it. Tim took out his cigarettes, lit two and gave one to Lucie.

   “Lucie?”

   “Yeah? What's up?”

   “Listen, thanks for being so cool about...this.” He held up his wrist briefly.

   “Why wouldn't I be? You think you're special? You weren't the first to do it and you won't be the last. Besides, we've all done shit in the past that we're not proud of, right? I sure as hell have. It's not like it's any of my business anyway.” She kept her eyes on the creek while she spoke. She paused for a few seconds before adding, “How old are you, Tim?”

   “Twenty-six,” he replied, a little shocked by her words.

   “How old were you when that happened?”

   “Fifteen.”

   “You want to talk about it?” She took hold of his hand.

   Tim didn't want to talk about it, but he could tell Lucie was curious and he wanted to please her. He looked down at their joined hands. He was determined not to lie, yet chose his words carefully.

   “I don't remember doing it. All I remember is waking up in a hospital room with a bandage around my arm and my doctor asking me why I'd tried to kill myself. They found me unconscious out in the middle of the woods near to where I lived with a utility knife in my hand. I don't even know where I got it from.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I almost died.”

   They sat there, just smoking in silence for a few moments.

   “I lost everything that night,” he added. “There was a big fire at my home, it gutted it. All my stuff was destroyed. But I didn't even find out about that till a few days later, when they took me back to a different place.”

   “You want some advice from an older woman, Tim?” Lucie looked into his eyes and took a drag of her cigarette.

   He nodded.

   “Don't let shit like that define you. Don't let it define who you are. Because if you do, it owns you and it controls you. It controls how you act and what you do, and you'll never be able to escape from it.” She looked back to the creek. “Then it wins.”

   “That's easier said than done.” He turned his face away from her.

   “I never said it would be easy. You're not afraid of a little hard work, are you, Tim?” she teased him, jabbing her elbow playfully into his ribs.

   “No,” he replied, turning back to her at the sudden sensation and grinning slightly. “I did used to have a job, you know. Blue collar, at that. I'm not some spoiled rich kid. But...stuff happened.” Realizing he had kind of contradicted his bullshit story from earlier, he decided to keep his mouth shut and hope she hadn't noticed.

   Lucie took her bag off her back and took two bottles of water out of it.

   “Here you go,” she said, handing one to Tim.

   “Thanks.” He accepted it and took a large drink from it. “So, since I've bared my soul to you, what's your big secret?”

   “What do you mean?” she asked, looking slightly startled.

   “You said you'd done something you weren't proud of. So what was it?”

   Lucie lifted the bottle to her lips and drank from it. She raised her eyes to him before fixing her gaze back on the creek.

   “A long time ago, I let someone down. Real bad. I wasn't there for her when she needed me. Then she went away and I never saw her again.” She turned back to Tim. “You kinda remind me of her a little, actually.”

   “I do? How so?”

   “I don't know. You got that same look in your eyes that she had. Like you're always a little afraid that something bad's gonna happen. Like you're hurting.” She spoke softly, her voice almost a whisper.

   Despite now feeling slightly stung by her insight, Tim was intrigued.

   “Who was she?”

   “Just an old friend,” she said, hurriedly putting her water bottle away in her bag before standing up. “You wanna make a move?”

   “Yeah, sure,” Tim replied.

   Lucie seemed to go very quiet after that and they hardly spoke to each other for the remainder of their walk

    

******

 

   Tim spent the rest of the afternoon alone. When they arrived back at the motel, Lucie told him she didn't feel very well and went back to her room. She even declined his later offer of dinner at the diner, so he went by himself.

   As he sat there eating alone, he wondered if he had done anything to upset her, to make her pissed at him. Maybe he had freaked her out when he told her about how he got his scar, maybe he should have kept on lying to her, after all. It was kind of understandable if that was the case. But having said that, why would she voluntarily walk along a trail for a further hour with someone she felt uncomfortable around? No, she wasn't scared of him, she couldn't be. That didn't make sense.

   _“Oh, well. Whatever. It was nice while it lasted,"_ Tim thought, resigning himself to the idea of a return to solitude. _“All five hours of it.”_

    _Why would any normal woman want to be around someone like you? She thinks you're weird._

   Tim lowered his head and put his hands over his ears, digging his fingers into the back of his head while his eyes darted around the room to check if anyone was looking at him.

   “Shut up,” he muttered under his breath. “Go away.”

    _She's probably on the phone to her sister right now. She's telling her what you did to yourself._

   “Stop talking to me.”

    _They're laughing at you._

   “Leave me alone.”

   Tim reached into his pocket and pulled out his bottle of pills, pouring out three into his hand and taking them all at once.

    

******

 

   At around eight o'clock, there was a knock on Tim's motel room door. He opened it to find Lucie standing there, holding a bottle of coke in each hand with her red backpack hanging from one arm.

   “Lucie? What are you doing here?” he asked in astonishment, eyebrows raised.

   “We had a date, remember?” she said, walking past him into his room. “I'm sorry about before, I just had a really bad headache. I think it's the heat.”

   “That's okay. I know what that's like.” He closed the door and watched as she put the bottles and her bag down on the writing desk and turned the chair around, seating herself in it. Apart from wearing no makeup, she was dressed in a similar way to how she had been that morning.

   “It's exactly the same as mine!” she exclaimed, observing the room excitedly and laughing a little.

   Tim smiled and went to turn off the TV, which he had been idly watching since he returned from the diner, before sitting down on the side of the bed nearest the desk. 

   “I thought you were mad at me,” he said, lightly chewing his thumbnail while a nervous laugh escaped from his throat.

   “Don't be silly. Why would I be mad at _you?_ ” She sounded as if she were speaking to a child. She opened one of the bottles and handed it to him. “Here you go. You do like coke, right?”

   “Yeah, thanks.” He didn't mind it, but it was a little too sweet for him and he preferred water. But he didn't want to seem ungrateful so he took the bottle from her and put it down on the bedside table. “You know, you could have brought beer for yourself if you wanted to. I don't mind people drinking in front of me or anything. Do you want me to go get some for you?”

   “No, thanks. That'd be kinda boring for you, wouldn't it?” Lucie asked.

   Tim shrugged. “I'm used to it. Doesn't really bother me.”

   “Why don't you drink? Is it because you have to take those?” She nodded her head in the direction of the bedside table, where Tim had left his bottle of pills.

   Tim ran his hand over his face and sighed deeply, inwardly cursing himself for not putting them somewhere out of sight. But then again, he hadn't been expecting her to show up. He decided to just try to play it off casually, like it was no big deal.

   He silently nodded in response to her question.

   “Are you sick?” she asked hesitantly.

   Tim looked her straight in the eye and nodded slowly. “Yeah.”

   “What's wrong with you?” Her voice was a mixture between morbid curiosity and concern.

   “I have epilepsy.” It wasn't the whole truth, but it wasn't a lie either.

   “So do you like have fits and stuff?” Her stubborn questioning suddenly reminded him a little of Jay, who had also been like a dog with a bone when it came to certain subjects.

   “Yeah, sometimes.” He sighed and began chewing his thumbnail again.

   _“There's a video on YouTube of me in all my convulsive glory I can show you, if you like,”_ he thought, feeling a little resentful at having to explain himself for things he had no control over.

   Lucie got up and went to sit next to him on the bed, putting her arm around his shoulders.

   “What happened? Did you hurt your head in an accident? Was it when your mom and dad died?”

   “No, I was born like this,” he stated flatly, wishing she'd stop asking him about it.

   “I am so sorry,” she said, as if he'd just told her that he only had days to live. “I didn't know.”

   Tim turned to her, frowning.

   “Why would you? We only met this morning. I don't know your medical history either.” He winked at her and smiled slightly. “It's probably not as interesting as mine though.”

   She suddenly leaned towards him and kissed him gently on the lips, then looked into his eyes and smiled.

   “Do you wanna have a little fun, Tim?” she whispered to him. “You know what I mean, right?”

   He gave a short, nervous laugh.

   “Why? Because you feel sorry for me?” he whispered back. Not that he'd necessarily reject her if she answered in the affirmative. He hadn't really given much thought as to where his principles lay with regard to pity fucks.

   “No, silly!” She took his hand and maneuvered it under her blouse, holding it to her breast, and Tim noticed she wasn't wearing a bra. “Because I like you.”

   Tim was a little stunned. He hadn't expected things to move this fast and he panicked. Going through puberty in a mental hospital hadn't exactly done wonders for his sexual awakening and he remained rather immature where matters of this nature were concerned.

   “Listen, are you sure you wanna do this?” he asked breathlessly, looking slightly terrified while withdrawing his hand from beneath her blouse.

   “Yeah,” she said incredulously. “Don't you?”

   “Well, yeah, it's just...” he trailed off.

   “Just what? Can't you get it up or something?” she teased him.

   Tim took this as a slight to his masculinity, and his desire to prove himself overrode his nervousness at the situation. He put his arm around her shoulder and dragged her down with him so that they were both lying next to each other, her on her back and him on his side, leaning over her. He started to kiss her clumsily, with his mouth too wide open and his teeth colliding with hers. She ran her fingers through his hair, pulling it slightly, and he started to breathe harder. He tried to unfasten the buttons of her blouse one-handed but failed, grunting in frustration, so she did it for him. He ran his hand over her breasts and down along her stomach, getting excited at the feeling of her flesh.

   Tim broke off from their kiss and looked down at Lucie's face. She smiled at him and nodded, giving him her permission to continue. He smiled back at her approval and pulled up her skirt, thrusting his hand roughly down into her underwear and inserting a finger inside her. She gasped and spread her legs wider, her thigh now pressing against his groin. He started to kiss her again and moved his hand faster, feeling himself getting hard. Lucie suddenly turned her face away from him.

   “Wait, stop,” she said suddenly.

   “Shit, am I hurting you?” Tim asked urgently, breathing heavily and immediately removing his hand from between her legs before laying it on her thigh. “I'm sorry.”

   “No, you're not hurting me. It's okay.” She stroked his face and kissed him on the forehead before sitting up. “Lie down.”

   Tim did as she told him, grinning and biting his lower lip, watching her as she removed her clothes before straddling him and unfastening the buttons on his jeans, pulling them down slightly as he raised his hips. He looked at her naked body above him and couldn't quite believe this was happening to him. And he knew that he wanted her, needed her, not out of love or tenderness or anything like that, but out of sheer, unadulterated lust, and something primal and animalistic overcame him.

   “Oh my fucking god!” He gasped as she reached down and guided him into her before leaning forward, resting on her elbows and kissing him passionately, pushing her tongue into his mouth and stroking his hair. He held the back of her head with one hand, running the other along her thigh and backside while she moved on top of him, arching his back and thrusting up to try to drive himself deeper inside her.

   Lucie moved her head down and started kissing his neck, scraping it with her teeth. Tim was overwhelmed and he didn't know how much longer he'd be able to hold out. He couldn't remember ever feeling this good before, and through the joy and the breathlessness, all he could do was laugh in disbelief. He hooked his arms beneath hers, gripping her shoulders and holding her body against his, never wanting to let her go.

   And as he climaxed, all that went through his mind was pure pleasure for the first time in his life.

   “Fuck...Thank you...Thank you so much...Thank you...” he repeated through gritted teeth, eyes fixed on the ceiling and lips spread wide into an incredulous smile

   He pressed his head back against the pillow, eyes closed and mouth falling open, shuddering as the ecstatic feeling coursed through his body. And in those moments, there was no pain, no fear, no guilt, no shame, no monsters, no loneliness, no voices, no hallucinations, no seizures, no scars, no pills, no memories of being locked up, no sense of inadequacy, no parents who didn't give a fuck, none of that shit fucking mattered and everything really was fine.

   He felt like this was finally his moment of retribution, his nice big nihilistic fuck you to the fate that had dealt him such a shitty hand for twenty-six goddamn years, and all he could do was laugh and feel grateful.

   He opened his eyes and Lucie was there, smiling down at him, sweating and breathing heavily. He sat up and kissed her, holding her face in his hands and looking into her eyes.

   “Thank you,” Tim said panting. He smiled and pushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “I'm sorry, I know I wasn't very good. Do you want me to...do anything for you?”

   “What are you talking about?” She kissed him on the cheek. “You were great. I came too.”

   Tim didn't really believe her and thought she was just saying that to spare his feelings, but he didn't argue.

   “Want a smoke?” he asked, giggling. “It's kinda traditional, right?”

   “Sure,” she replied, dismounting herself from him and quickly getting dressed. She walked over to the desk and drank from her bottle of coke. “Aren't you thirsty?”

   “Yeah, I am actually.” Tim pulled his jeans back up before grabbing his bottle from the bedside table and taking a few large gulps from it.

   He grabbed his cigarettes and lighter and they went outside to smoke. Tim couldn't stop looking at her, grinning like a schoolboy with a crush. But then he thought about it. He realized that if he wanted to have any kind of a relationship with her beyond that night, he owed her the truth about himself so that she would know what she was letting herself in for. It was the least he could do after what she had done for him.

   “Lucie, I need to tell you something.”

   “What?” she said, smiling at him.

   “I lied to you this morning. I didn't grow up in a big house by the ocean.” He laughed a little at how ridiculous it sounded to him. “I don't come from a rich family. I grew up in a mental hospital. My mom left me there when I was eight and never came back for me. I was really sick when I was a kid. Still am, I guess. They let me out when I was eighteen. I'm sorry I lied to you. If you never want to see me again, I understand.”

   He looked at her face. She was chewing her lower lip nervously and frowning slightly, averting her eyes from him while extinguishing her cigarette on the wall. He sighed, feeling disappointed. After flicking his cigarette away, he held out his hand to her.

   “No hard feelings, all right? I'm sorry, Lucie.”

   Instead of shaking his hand, Lucie took hold of it and led him back into the room, sitting him down on the bed and placing herself next to him. She turned to him, looking into his eyes.

   “Don't worry about it. Really.”

   Tim suddenly noticed something different in her eyes, in the way she was looking at him. It wasn't fear or pity or mockery, or any other reaction he'd grown used to seeing when people found out about him. It was guilt. Guilt and regret. Then he started to feel strange, dizzy, sleepy. It wasn't a seizure, he knew that, it was something different. Then he looked at the bottle of coke she'd brought him.

   He watched as she stood up and walked to the door, closing and locking it before returning to the bed. His vision started to blur and he tried to get up but his legs wouldn't work. Then he started to panic.

   “What did you do to me?” he demanded in a trembling voice. “Who are you?”

   “Shh, just lie back.”

   Since he couldn't move, Tim didn't really have much of a choice but to let her lay him down on the bed, and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was her face staring down at him.

   “I'm sorry, Tim. You left it too late.”

   Then everything went black and silent and there was nothing.

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from totheark Conversion  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-xX7-eFWmy8
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	7. There's No Place Like Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim finds himself brutally reminded of his past.

 

    

    

    

    _“Control is being taken away from you...”_

    

 

_July 27 th 2014_

 

   Tim opened his eyes and saw the blue sky above him. Blades of grass trembled in the warm, gentle breeze and tickled his cheeks. The ground felt soft beneath his back and head. Everything was silent except for the singing of the birds in the distance and the sound of his own breathing. He felt so comfortable, he didn't care that he couldn't move. It was so peaceful, he didn't ever want to leave this place anyway. Tim smiled and closed his eyes.

   “Tim? Tim? What are you doing down there? Wake up. I've been looking everywhere for you.” The voice sounded friendly, yet mildly irritated.

   Tim opened his eyes and frowned in confusion as he saw the upside down image of Jay as he knelt by the top of Tim's head and looked down at him, video camera strapped to the palm of his right hand.

   “Are you okay? Do you need your pills?”

   Tim just smiled and shook his head slightly. For some reason, he had no voice. Jay smiled back at him and laughed a little.

   “Come on, then. Get up. We have to go,” he said casually.

   _“I can't,”_   Tim mouthed silently.

   Jay stood up and took hold of Tim's left wrist before proceeding to drag him along the ground. Tim didn't want to go. He tried to pull his arm free from Jay's grasp, but he couldn't move it so nothing happened. He closed his eyes, feeling the contours of the ground as his back passed over them.

   When he opened his eyes again, he no longer saw the blue sky and the ground no longer felt soft. He saw ridged metal arching above him, surrounding him, stretching on until it reached the blinding semi-circular wall of light at the end of the tunnel, broken by the looming familiar silhouette of That Thing.

   “Get up!” Jay yelled at him with terror in his voice. “Come on, Tim, we have to go! Get up, Tim! Get up! We have to go, come on!”

   But Tim couldn't get up. All he could do was lie there and cough and wait for it to come for him again.

   And it did.

   Then he woke up.

    

******

    

   Tim was screaming. He didn't know how long he had been screaming. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know how long he had been there. He didn't know how long he was going to be there. He didn't know why he was there. He didn't know how he got there. He knew his eyes were open, but he couldn't see. He knew he could move, but he couldn't run away. All he could do was scream.

   “Please let me go! Please somebody help me! I don't know what you want! Please help me! I won't tell anyone! I don't know even know who you are! Please just let me out of here! I can't see! Please help me! Just say something!”

   His throat was starting to burn and his lungs ached, the pain ultimately overpowering the numbing effects of the adrenaline. His head hurt and his mouth was dry.

   “Please...” He started to cough. He couldn't scream anymore.

   He knew he was lying on his back on a hospital bed. It was soft and there was a pillow beneath his head, and he could feel the cold metal of the side rails against his arms. As far as he could tell, he was still wearing the same T-shirt and jeans that he had been wearing in the motel room, and he could feel the folded leather of his boots digging into the back of his ankles. There was the familiar sensation from his time in the hospital of thick, heavy bands wrapped tightly around his wrists and attached to somewhere over the edges of the bed, holding his arms down at his sides, and no matter how much he struggled and pulled and wriggled and squirmed, he couldn't free himself from them. He never could.

    _Told you she was laughing at you. You're so stupid._

   “Shut up!” Tim yelled out in the silent room

    _See what happens when you think with your dick like some horny teenager? Fucking idiot._

   “I said shut up! I don't fucking need this shit right now!” He unconsciously tried to raise his hands to put over his ears before remembering his predicament and letting them drop back to the mattress.

    _Should have listened to me._

   “I know.”

   Tim turned his head to the right and noticed something out of the corner of his eye. What he saw made him feel briefly relieved, because he had thought he had gone blind. In the pitch darkness, he saw a tiny flashing red light.

   “Who are you talking to?”

   The female voice echoed in the darkness. Tim started and sat up, twisting his head around to try to see where it was coming from. Seeing nothing, he started to doubt himself, wondering if the voice had been real – if any of it was real – or if it was all just another horrible nightmare.

   “Who's there? Can I have some water?” he asked breathlessly, eyes fruitlessly searching the darkness for anything recognizable. “Why are you doing this to me?”

   “For Lucie.”

   “What?” he asked desperately. “Where are you?”

   “Tell me what you know about Lucie.” The tone was soft but cold, and sounded slightly muffled.

   “What?! I don't know anything about her!” he yelled into the darkness. “I met her at a motel, I thought she was hot! She bought me breakfast, asked me a shitload of personal questions, had sex with me and spiked my fucking drink! That's it!” He futilely tugged at his wrists, making the bed rattle. ”Now where am I?!”

   “Don't be afraid, you're safe,” she soothed. “You're home.”

   “Fuck!” Tim yelled as a light suddenly illuminated the room from behind him, shutting his eyes tight to allow his dilated pupils to adjust.

   As he slowly opened his eyes, the black letters on the flaking white wall gradually came into focus.

    **HE IS A Liar**

   “No...no no no no...” He let himself fall limply back against the mattress and found himself staring up at the tiled ceiling of his old fire-ravaged hospital. “Please...you gotta let me out of here. I...I can't stand it in here. You have to let me go, please! I won't hurt you, I promise! What do you want from me?!”

   “Aren't you glad to be back?” It sounded like a genuine question, even though the sarcasm was obvious. “I did intend to put you back in your old room – you know, for the dramatic effect and shit like that – but it was too badly damaged. I guess that's only natural though, that being where the fire started and all.”

   He tried to twist around to see who she was, but he couldn't manage to crane his neck around far enough either way to see directly behind him. He did spot the source of the red light though; he was being filmed by a camera on a tripod. He started to cough again, sitting back up and staring into the lens with horror.

   “You need to shut that off!” he yelled. “You need to shut it off because it'll come for you, I swear! That's how it gets you! That's how it got Alex and Jay! You need to fucking shut that off right now!”

   “It's a little late for that, Tim, but thanks for the advice.”

   He heard footsteps approaching him from behind and she was suddenly there, standing directly to his left. She was wearing a baggy black hoodie which looked about three sizes too big for her, and a black surgical mask covering her whole face below the eyes. Her hair was dark and cut short, shorter than his own. He stared into her eyes, pleading, slightly stunned by her striking appearance.

   “Listen, you gotta let me out of here. I'm sick. I need my pills.” He laughed bitterly and rolled his eyes. “You already know that though, don't you?”

   She pressed her hand against his chest, pushing him back so he was lying down again. He didn't resist – it wasn't like it made any difference. And since he was basically at her mercy, it probably wasn't a good idea to be pissing her off for no reason.

   “Well, I do have _some_ pills, but I don't know if they're yours or not. The label's been torn off.” Tim watched as her hand tauntingly held his bottle of pills above his face before putting them back in her pocket. “When did you start doing that, Tim? You never used to do that. You ashamed of yourself or something?”

   He coughed again.

   “Of course I am. Wouldn't you be if you were me? I fucking hate myself.” A tear leaked out from the corner of his eye and he felt it roll down the side of his head.

   “Don't cry, Tim,” she said gently, tracing the back of her finger up his temple. “I know just how you feel. I fucking hate you too.”

   “Thanks.” He frowned and looked up at her. “Wait a minute, do I know you? You know me from way back, right? You must do or else you wouldn't have known that about the label.”

   “Considering the circumstances, establishing my identity really shouldn't be your top priority right now.” Her voice started to harden.

   “Will you just let me take _one_ pill? Please?” he begged.

   “You be a good boy and answer my questions and you can take the whole damn bottle if you like, just like you did that other time you were here. I won't stop you. To be perfectly honest, I don't really give a shit whether you live or die. I just want information. Some answers I know and some I don't, so don't lie. Not unless you want me to leave you here to starve.” There was a pause. “Do we have a deal? Time's ticking away here...” He noticed as she looked down at an imaginary watch on her wrist.

   “Fine. Whatever.” Tim's cough was getting more persistent and his head was pounding, so he didn't have much of a choice except to lie back and let himself be interrogated but he wasn't fucking happy about it. “Will you shut that goddamn camera off?”

   “No. Camera stays on.” She leaned forward, resting her forearms against the bed rail, staring down into his eyes. “Does the name Carmel mean anything to you, Tim?”

   “No.”

   “Did you get many visitors when you were in here?”

   “No, nobody.” His breath was quickening and his eyes scurried across the room, every inch of it reminding him of That Thing. “Not human ones anyway.”

   “Are you sure about that?” She frowned.

   “Yeah, pretty sure. But it was years ago and I was dosed up to the eyeballs half the time, so who knows?” He looked back to the camera for a moment, fearing it as if it were something sentient and malevolent. “Are you done? Will you let me go and give me my pills back now? Because if you don't, I'm not gonna be able to tell you shit for a long time.”

   “Not yet,” she snapped. “Did you ever escape?”

   “Yeah, quite a few times.”

   “Why?”

   “I don't know!” His exasperated gesture was abruptly interrupted by the restraints around his wrists. “Because I was bored? Because I was scared? Because I was a kid stuck in a hospital for years on end? It wasn't exactly a barrel of fucking laughs in here, you know.”

   “Where did you go?”

   “Rosswood Park.”

   “Why there?”

   “Because it was close by and I liked it.” He gave a brief nostalgic smile. “I used to go there a lot before they locked me up.”

   “When was the last time you escaped?”

   He turned his head away from her.

   “The night of the fire.”

   “You mean the night you slashed your wrist?” She said the words with relish, as if enjoying reminding him of it.

   “Same thing,” Tim shrugged. “For obvious reasons, they decided to increase the security around me in the new place. I never made it out of that building till they started preparing me for release a few years later.”

   “Look at me, Tim.” She took hold of his chin and turned his face back towards her. “What do you really remember about that night?”

   “The last thing I remember is getting out and then running through the woods to Rosswood. It was still light outside. And no, I didn't set my goddamn room on fire before I left either.” He paused for a few moments. “Everything I told Lucie about that night was the truth.”

   “Did you ever hurt anyone else in Rosswood?”

   “What?!” He was a little shocked by this question. “No! I never even saw anyone else there, except for when I got caught and they brought me back here.”

   “You were violent though, weren't you? You must have been. Psychiatrists don't just keep a kid locked up for ten years without good reason.”

   “There were a lot of reasons,” Tim said softly. “And, yeah, that was one of them. I was sick.”

   “So what did they say was wrong with you?”

   He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

   “Schizophrenia. I was already taking seizure meds before I came here.” He had also developed a rather severe case of dissociative identity disorder since his release, but he wasn't about to bring that up unless she asked, and he was starting to lose patience. “Is that enough for you? You gonna let me go now?”

   “One more question. Did you ever get any letters?”

   “No.” He started pulling at his wrists again and coughing, the pain in his head becoming more intense. “Listen, I don't feel so good...”

   “Why are you so sure?”

   “Because I would have kept them, I would have seen them.” He nodded his head, more as a confirmation to himself than her. “Yeah. Anything else?”

   “No. That's all.”

   “Then get these fucking things off of me and give me my pills. Please?”

   “No.” She tilted her head slightly and her eyes narrowed, suggesting she was smiling beneath the mask.

   “But you said you would if I answered your questions!” he yelled indignantly.

   “I lied.” He heard a small laugh coming from her.

   “I did what you wanted. What more do you want from me?!” He squeezed his eyes shut for a few moments as a sudden jolt of pain shot through his head.

   “That was business, this is pleasure.” She straightened up and put her hands in her pockets. “I don't really care about any of that shit you told me, but someone else does. I was just keeping my end of the bargain by asking you those questions. But since I've got you here...”

   “Why? Who are you? What did I ever do to you?” It was coming, he could feel it.

   “Same thing you did to Alex. And Brian. And Seth. And Jay.”

   Then Tim knew who she was. He looked to her, his eyes softening and jaw dropping open. She, like Brian and Seth, had mysteriously disappeared during the filming of _Marble Hornets_. She used to be so sweet and kind to him, he couldn't believe she had changed so much. Just like Brian.

   “Sarah? It is you, isn't it? What happened to you? What did it do to you?” She looked to the floor without answering his questions. “Whatever it did, I understand. I know what it's like. I know how to protect you now. I can help you, I swear. Please let me help you, Sarah.”

   She turned her back to him. He raised his head and saw her shoulders quivering slightly and assumed she was crying. But after a few moments, her hollow laughter resounded around the room and she suddenly turned back towards the bed, seizing the rail and staring down at him, her eyes wide and boring into his.

   “Help me?! You want to help me?!” She laughed again. “Is that some kind of sick joke?! This is all your fault!”

   “I know that! Do you think I don't know that?!” He suddenly grabbed the rail with his left hand, pulling himself up and leaning over it towards her, his right arm stretched out behind his back, and she took a few steps back from the bed. “Do you think I don't wake up every single day wishing I'd just kept to myself in college? Wishing I hadn't made friends with Brian? Wishing I hadn't gone to that goddamn audition?! I didn't do it on purpose! That Thing's been following me ever since my _own mother_ dragged me through the door of this fucking hospital before signing a few forms and disappearing from my life forever! I was eight years old! I didn't exactly have a choice in the matter! I _never_ had a choice in _anything_ for ten fucking years! And one of the first choices I got to make when they let me out of here, I got wrong! I fucked up and I'm sorry, okay? Is that what you want to hear?”

   He didn't give her the opportunity to answer. It was too late now. It was going to happen no matter what he did, and he didn't really care anymore, he just knew that he wanted to be away from this place. And he would be soon, one way or the other. It was the injustice of it all that made him so angry, that he was being punished for a sin that he had no knowledge of having committed. And the anger overcame him, just like it had the time he punched Jay in the face in that parking lot, and the words poured out of his mouth in a torrent of bitterness and rage, interspersed with the occasional cough.

   “And every single person I respected and loved when I was in here just kept telling me that it didn't exist and that it was just me being fucking psycho and I believed them! I didn't know! And you wanna know something? When we first started filming the movie, before everything went to hell, that was happiest I'd ever been in my shitty, miserable life! I liked Alex, I liked all of you! Why would I want to hurt you?”

   “But you did hurt us, Tim!” Even though her words stung him, her voice cracked a little as she spoke and Tim derived a little satisfaction from it. He had naively believed that she really would release him if he cooperated, and any sympathy he had had for her was gone. He was done pleading with her. She had withheld his pills from him and now it was too late and she was going to have to deal with the consequences.

   “Yeah, I know. Now you want your revenge, right? What are you gonna do to me, huh? Gonna fuck me up? Drug me again? Break my other leg? One of my arms? Both of them? I've had a lot of head injuries so you could definitely do some damage that way too. Do you even know? Have you thought this through?” He laughed and lay back on the bed, smiling up at her. “You want to humiliate me, is that it? You want to film me begging for my life? It's not gonna happen, Sarah. I'm not scared of dying, I've tried to kill myself twice. Bring it on. You think you can out-crazy me? I wrote the fucking book.”

   Then he closed his eyes, took a deep breath and waited.

   He started to cough, the agonizing pain spreading throughout his head, and as his arms and legs started to twitch uncontrollably, he managed blurt out one final statement.

   “You have fun with my friend, because I'm outta here.”

   He felt his body stiffen, then everything went blank and Tim went away.

    

******

 

   When he woke up, the first thing he saw was someone staring down at him, talking to him. She had really short hair and was wearing a mask over her face. He didn't have his mask. He didn't know where it was. She was calling him Tim, but Tim wasn't his name. He didn't have a name. He shook his head to try to tell her that he wasn't Tim, but she didn't understand. There wasn't anything else he could do though because he didn't know how to talk.

   The skin on his face felt tight and his eyes were stinging. That was normal, though. It just meant that Tim had been crying. Tim always cried when this happened. Tim cried a lot. He wasn't going to try to stand up yet because he was always unsteady at first and ended up falling over. Besides, it was nice to be waking up in a bed for once, rather than on the ground somewhere, and his head wasn't hurting either. His leg still hurt though, but that always hurt. Tim's leg had gotten better, but his hadn't. He started to cough. Tim liked smoking cigarettes, but he didn't. But Tim didn't care what he thought about anything.

   He heard a rattling sound and looked up at the girl. She was holding a bottle of pills. She took one out of the bottle and shoved it into his mouth. They were Tim's pills. He didn't like those pills because they made him go to sleep and made Tim wake up and he didn't want to go to sleep. If she was trying to make him go to sleep, that meant she wasn't his friend. He sat up and spat it out.

   He looked up at the wall in front of him. He knew those words, he knew his friend had written them, his friend who wore the hoody and the black mask. He knew where he was now. Tim didn't like this place anymore because he had to stay here for a long time. But he didn't remember that, that was before he was born. He liked this place, he came here with his friend. They tied Alex to a chair and hurt him. But Alex had hurt him first. Alex had broken his leg and now it hurt forever and made him walk funny and he couldn't run fast anymore. He didn't like Alex. But That Thing did and it protected Alex and wouldn't let his friend kill him.

   He tried to move his arms and noticed that he couldn't. He looked down at the things around his wrists. Then he looked up at the girl. Had she done this to him? She definitely wasn't his friend. That's why she was trying to wake Tim up. Tim would just get scared and cry and let her hurt him. He didn't like Tim. He thought Tim was weak. Tim was always sick and having to see doctors and take pills. Tim was always afraid. Not like him. He wouldn't cry. He would fight.

   He leaned over the rail and looked down to locate where the thing around his wrist was attached to the bed. It was just a buckle. Easy. He wasn't stupid. He didn't panic like Tim would. Putting his right arm through the rail, he simply reached down and unfastened it. He looked back to the girl and brought his arm back up, displaying it to her like a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat, the leather strap dangling uselessly from the thing around his wrist.

   Then she dropped the bottle of pills and ran out of the room as he started to remove the thing from his left wrist. Once he had freed himself, he got up off the bed slowly. It was okay, he wasn't going to fall. Then he noticed the camera. His friend had a camera. Maybe he was here too. Maybe the girl was hurting him. He needed to find him and help him.

   He looked around the room and limped over to the wall which had the words “ **Follow ME** ” written on it. The large flashlight illuminating the room was standing next to it. He picked it up and looked at the bottle of pills on the ground. He decided to just leave them there. What use were they to him?

   He was in control now.

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quotes from Marble Hornets Entry ###### and Entry #64  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N7QXQZjp5XM  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S-pmfGI-S3s
> 
> Thank you for reading and all the nice feedback.
> 
> I hope you enjoyed it!


	8. Know Your Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim's alternate personality searches the abandoned hospital, but doesn't find who he's looking for.

 

    

    

    

    _“YOU ARE YOU_  
_BUT WHO ARE YOU”_

    

 

_July 27 th 2014_

 

   He walked slowly along the graffiti laden corridor of the abandoned hospital, shining the flashlight into each branching room as he passed it, the asymmetrical rhythm of his footsteps echoing in the darkness. He didn't care about the girl, she was probably long gone. There was no way he'd be fast enough to catch her anyway. He wanted to find his friend. He needed him to tell him what to do. His friend always knew what to do. He hadn't needed to look for him before, he had always just been somewhere nearby when he woke up. Probably because his friend was usually the one responsible for waking him up, by taking Tim's pills away and making Tim go to sleep. So he must be around here somewhere.

   It was all Tim's fault anyway. He shouldn't have tried so hard to keep him and his friend away from each other by taking those pills all the time. Him and his friend could fight That Thing better than Tim and Jay could. Tim and Jay were weak. They just ran away all the time. He wasn't weak, he was strong. Even though he moved slower now, he was still strong. He could take a lot of pain and was reckless, often acting without fear of the consequences. He was honest. He couldn't speak, so he couldn't lie. He didn't hear voices that weren't real. He didn't hate himself. He didn't think of himself as a victim. Not like Tim. Tim was pathetic.

   Then he thought about Jay. He didn't like Jay. Jay had helped Alex to tie him up just before he dropped that heavy block on his leg. It had hurt a lot. It had made him scream. Then they had just left him there, but his friend had come to help him. He had carried him to his car and taken him to the hospital. But then Tim had woken up and it was Tim's leg that got fixed in the hospital, not his. His leg was still broken. It always would be. It wasn't fair.

   He remembered that he had saved Jay's life once, when Alex was pointing a gun at Jay and Jessica. He liked Jessica, so he was glad he had done that. Not that he would have refused to do it anyway. He was obedient and loyal. His friend had told him to do it and he loved his friend, he always did what his friend told him to do. He was excited to see him again.

   He wished he had his mask, because he knew his friend liked him more when he was wearing his mask, because his friend didn't like Tim either and didn't want to see his face. He thought about how he would always kneel down before him – even though it made the pain in his leg worse – because he knew that his friend liked him to. He would stare up at him through the eyeholes of his mask while being given his instructions, nodding when asked if he understood, wishing he could talk so that he could say thank you when he took hold of his hands and helped him to stand up. He needed to find him.

   All of a sudden, he noticed an odor that he didn't like. He knew what it was – it was tobacco. Someone was smoking cigarettes like Tim did. His friend didn't smoke, so it couldn't be him. He stopped walking and looked towards the next doorway. He banged the flashlight against the wall to see if anyone would emerge into the corridor. When nobody did, he simply walked into the room and shone the light inside it.

   There was a woman there, sitting on the floor in the corner of the room. She was holding a cell phone in one hand and a cigarette in the other. She started at the sight of him. She had her own flashlight, which she picked up from the floor and shone back at him. She had blonde hair, that was all he really noticed about her. She put down her phone and stubbed her cigarette out on the floor, squinting her eyes at him before standing up as he advanced into the room.

   “Tim? Is that you?”

   He shook his head.

   She made the unfortunate decision to run towards him and his defensive instincts kicked in. His arm shot out and he grabbed her by the throat, before proceeding to shunt her back against the wall. He held her there at arm's length, using his other hand to aim the flashlight upwards but not directly into her eyes, which went wide with fear and stared into his permanently expressionless face.

   “Tim...You're hurting me...” She grabbed his forearm with both hands and tried unsuccessfully to remove his hand from around her neck, her voice strained as she spoke. “Look, I know you're probably really mad at me right now and you have every right to be, but just let me explain...”

   He loosened his grip a little. Who was she? How did she know Tim? Why would Tim be mad at her? But she didn't seem like a threat to him, so he released her before pointing a warning finger in her face. She coughed a little, holding her own hand up to her throat and gasping for breath.

   “She made me do it, Tim! That girl with the mask! She's got my sister! She said she was gonna kill her!” She moved away from the wall and took hold of his hand, which he abruptly yanked away from her. “I didn't want to do it, I swear! Well, not the thing with the coke anyway. You have to believe me, Tim! You do believe me, right?”

   He shrugged. He had no idea what she was talking about and he didn't really care. He didn't care about her and he didn't care about her sister and he didn't care about whatever it was she'd done to Tim. He just wanted to find his friend. He turned around and started to head out of the room and back to the corridor.

   “Oh my God!” she yelled, causing him to turn back to her. “What happened to your leg? Did she do that to you?”

   He shook his head, watching cautiously as she frowned at him before picking up her flashlight, phone and a small red bag off the floor. She put her phone away in the bag, then put the bag on her back before walking towards him.

   “Does it hurt?”

   He nodded and continued walking down the corridor, noticing as she started to follow him.

   “Come with me, my car's outside. Let me take you back to the motel, okay?”

   What motel? He just ignored her.

   “What did she do to you, Tim? Did she hurt you bad?” She overtook him, standing in front of him and blocking his path. “Is that why you won't talk to me?”

   He didn't respond, hoping she would get the message and leave him alone. What did she want from him anyway? After what he'd done to her, he thought she'd be running in the opposite direction by now. Most people would.

   “Will you at least say something? You can just call me names and tell me to go to hell if you like. I know I deserve it. I know I was wrong to do what I did and I'm really sorry.” She paused for a few moments. “I need your help, Tim. I'm scared.”

   He shook his head and roughly shoved her out of his way, shining the flashlight into the next room along the corridor and peering into it before moving on to the subsequent one. As he looked through the rectangular cavity where a window had once been, he noticed that the sky was a shade of deep blue, slightly lighter than the black it had been before. It would be dawn soon.

   “Wait...” She ran up behind him and grabbed his arm. He turned to her again and she was looking into his eyes. “What are you looking for? Are you looking for the girl? I know where she is. I can take you to her. You can get back at her. I'm too scared to go by myself, but she might have my sister with her and I need to help her. You're strong, you can protect me, right?”

   Her appeal to his vanity paid off. He thought about this for a moment. The girl had put those things around his wrists and had been holding him prisoner and had tried to give him those pills, after all. Maybe his friend would be impressed if he caught her and brought her to him. He could show him that he could think for himself. That he didn't need to be told what to do. He could make him proud of him. He looked back to her and nodded. She smiled.

   “Let's go, then.” She took hold of his hand and started to walk, as if she were a mother leading a young child across a busy street. And he let her do it, he wanted her in front of him where he could keep an eye on her. “Don't worry, it's not far.”

   After a few minutes he stopped by the entrance of a room and aimed the flashlight into it. It was almost entirely destroyed and the walls and floor were black. He didn't know why, but there was something about it that made him feel afraid. Not many things frightened him, but that room did. He stared into it through the damaged door frame and his head started to hurt a little.

   “Hey,” she said, turning to him and tugging at his hand. “Are you okay, Tim? Am I going too fast for you? Do you need to slow down?”

   He looked back to her and shook his head. They carried on walking, but he kept his eyes fixed on that doorway until it was out of sight.

   “Still not talking to me, huh?” she asked flatly. “I said I was sorry.”

   He wished she'd just shut up because he didn't know what she was talking about and she was getting on his nerves. He wasn't used to having conversations with people who expected him to answer. It didn't help that the only responses he could really give were “yes” and “no”, and he wasn't about to start writing things down for her.

   They continued down the perfectly square hallway in silence, and he looked at the walls, noticing as the crumbling, bare plaster was replaced by red bricks on one side and overgrown bushes encroaching through what were once large windows on the other. He didn't know his way around this place like Tim did, and he wasn't sure where she was leading him to. Then they reached the main entrance.

   Parked out front was a red van, the rear of it facing the building. Even though it had gotten a little lighter outside, it was still hard to see anything apart from what was caught by the beams of their flashlights. She let go of his hand and put her finger to her lips before pointing to the back doors of the van. He looked back at her suspiciously, starting to doubt himself and wondering if this was such a good idea after all, wondering if he should just back off and go look for his friend to help him.

   But that was something Tim would do. He wasn't like Tim. He wasn't a coward. He could handle this himself.

   He handed his flashlight to her before reaching towards the door handle of the van.

   He heard the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps before he saw anything, and turned around and noticed just in time to duck out of the way of the baseball bat which had been swung towards his head. A loud, deep clanging noise rang out as it hit the van instead. He was stunned for a few moments before looking up and seeing the girl with the mask.

   “What the hell are you doing?!” he heard the blonde cry as she dropped both the flashlights on the ground and put a hand on his shoulder. “Don't hurt him, he's sick!”

   Now he was just confused. Were they working together or not? Had the blonde set him up or not? He didn't know. All he knew was that the other one had tried to hit him over the head with a baseball bat – which she was still holding – so he straightened up, drew his fist back and punched her hard in the face.

   “Ow, shit!” She doubled over, dropping the bat and cradling her nose with one hand while steadying herself against the van with the other. He bent down and picked up the bat, but he was slow because of his leg and the blonde one ran up behind him and grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back.

   “No, don't, Tim, stop it! We're trying to help you!”

   Help him? How? By hitting him? By knocking him out? He didn't understand. This was too complicated for him. He was used to things being more straightforward. He couldn't separate actions from motives in his mind. If someone tried to hurt him, they were his enemy, it was as simple as that.

   He grabbed her hair with his other hand and she released his arm. He dragged her around so she was standing directly in front of him with her back to him and held the bat horizontally beneath her chin, with one hand at each end, forcing her head back against his shoulder. He walked backwards unsteadily until his back was up against the van, pulling her along with him. He looked warily at the masked one – whose hand was now smeared with her own blood – and she looked back at him in kind. She seemed to have recovered slightly and was now standing upright.

   “Tim, please don't do this,” the blonde one said, her voice shaking with fear. “We're trying to take you back to the motel. It's about a hundred miles away. We didn't want to leave you out here alone. This all just kinda got a little out of hand. This wasn't supposed to happen, Tim.”

   He still didn't understand. What got out of hand? What was supposed to happen?

   “He's not Tim, you idiot!” the masked one yelled.

   “What?” She looked up at him, frowning as if expecting to see a different face.

   “Why do you think he's not talking?”

   “I don't know, I just thought he was pissed at me.”

   He didn't like being spoken about as if he wasn't there, but there wasn't much he could do about it and at least neither of them was trying to attack him for now. He knew he didn't really have the right to feel aggrieved seeing as he was planning on attacking her too, he was more angry with himself for letting himself be cornered.

   “He's got a split personality. You can't reason with him, he's a psychopath.” He noticed her start to move closer to them and put one hand in the pocket of her hoody. “You already knew he was crazy, that's how this whole thing got started in the first place. So are you just gonna stand there like a moron and let him break your neck? Because that's exactly what he'll do. He doesn't give a fuck about you. And when he changes back, he's just gonna hate you. He won't even remember any of this shit. To him, all you'll ever be is the bitch who tricked him and roofied him. We should have just left him in there to rot. That's where he belongs anyway.”

   Despite his total bewilderment at the situation, he couldn't help but get a twisted thrill out of imagining how devastated Tim would be if he heard them talking about him like this. He didn't care what other people thought about him. He knew what he was. So did Tim, but he wasn't ashamed of it like Tim was. Only his friend's opinion mattered to him. He wished he was there with him.

   The blonde looked at him and he looked back at her, the usual blank expression on his face.

   “Tim, if you can hear me, I'm sorry,” she whispered, before looking back to the other girl. “What do I do?”

   “Take him down, get his right leg.”

   He screamed in pain as the blonde raised her foot and slammed it hard into his bad knee. She ran from him and he collapsed onto his side as the agony exploded through him, shortly before his head snapped back as he was kicked in the face.

   “That's for my fucking nose!” he heard the other one yell.

   He tasted blood in his mouth as he felt himself being rolled over onto his stomach and a knee being pressed into his back before both his arms were twisted behind him and held there. He spat blood out on the ground, not even being able to think about fighting back, the pain in his leg consuming him and making him feel nauseous and dizzy.

   “Hold him still!”

   He noticed a flashlight being placed to the left of his head and saw the girl with the mask kneel down beside him before taking a syringe from her pocket, and he started to panic, shaking his head furiously and closing his eyes. He felt his hair being grabbed, stopping him from moving his head, and she forced him to look at her.

   “Listen, I know you understand what I'm saying! Hold fucking still! Unless you want the needle to break off, that is. I don't give a fuck, it's going in anyway. I've had enough of your shit.”

   “Tim, it'll make you feel better, it won't hurt you,” he heard the other one say.

   He did as she told him, pressing his forehead against the ground, squeezing his eyes shut and whimpering at the pain. He felt her roll up the sleeve of his T-shirt, then a sharp pain in his upper arm, followed by a strange, cold sensation as she stabbed the needle into him and injected whatever was in the syringe into his bloodstream.

   After a few moments, he felt a warmth flow through him. He started to relax and the pain started to dull. Then after a little while, there was no pain at all, not even the pain he usually felt. That was nice.

   He felt rope being tied around his wrists, but he didn't care because everything seemed okay now and he just wanted to rest. He could feel himself fading out of consciousness. He heard doors opening and felt himself being lifted up and carried. He forced his eyes open and saw the beige hoody and black mask of his friend above him, his head looking down at him.

   _“Thank you,”_   he mouthed silently, before being placed gently down on his side. He closed his eyes. He had found his friend, he knew he was safe. He could go to sleep now.

   The last thing he heard before he succumbed to the drug was the sound of van doors being slammed shut.

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from totheark Inquiry:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HUFe8bEIDQE
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	9. The Good Friend And The Last Resort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sarah met Tim...

 

    

    

    

    _“Who wrote that dialogue with you, Alex?”_

    

 

_April 28 th 2006_

    

   Sarah walked along the hallway, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ears. She was slightly regretting her decision to agree to do this favor for Seth, who was in turn doing a favor for Alex, who was struggling to find actors for his film project. But she did feel a little bad for Alex. She knew how much _Marble Hornets_ meant to him, knew how hard he had worked on the script. It was obvious by the way he spoke so passionately about it when they'd all meet up for coffee after classes. He had put his heart and soul into it, and she guessed it must have been tough for him to deal with when only two people showed up for the audition. The names Brian Thomas and Tim Wright had looked kind of lonely to her on the otherwise empty notepad page that Alex was using as a roster, before she reluctantly added her own moniker at the bottom.

   The problem was that the script was terrible. Not that she would ever tell Alex that. Alex was a good person, but when he immersed himself in something, he tended to become blind to his own flaws and didn't take criticism well. She had only managed to make it through three pages of pretentious dialogue and heavy-handed metaphors before giving up and handing Seth's copy back to him. But maybe she was being too harsh. It was only a student film, when all was said and done.

   It was too late to back out now anyway. She had said yes, and she always kept her word. Alex and Seth were nice guys, after all, and she knew Seth was looking forward to being the camera operator. They were her friends and she couldn't let her friends down like that. As long as it didn't interfere with her own studies, it wouldn't be a problem. Besides, it might be kind of fun. She thought back to when Alex was explaining the plot in the coffee shop, gesturing enthusiastically while she and Seth exchanged discreet, amused glances.

   “It's about this guy who goes back to his hometown after spending _years_ away and the experience just _blows_ his freaking _mind_ ,” Alex had informed them, waving his teaspoon around as he spoke, as if it were a conductor's baton. “So he gets real depressed and starts thinking about his life and his past, and so on. I mean, like, the town's changed, his old girlfriend's changed, his best friend's changed. But then he has to answer the _ultimate question_. Has everything else _really_ changed, or has _he_ changed? You see what I'm saying? It's fucking deep, I'm telling you.”

   “Why is it called 'Marble Hornets'?” Sarah had asked.

   “Well, I wanted the title to be some avant-garde type thing that wouldn't really make any sense, you know, to make the film seem more...” Alex's eyes had rolled for a few moments as he scoured his vocabulary for the correct adjective. “...intellectual. So I just tried to think of something random. And then I remembered these little ornaments my mom has – marble hornets.” He smiled and nodded. “You see? Smart, huh?”

   So now here she was, walking to the room Alex had been allocated by the school to use for the first meeting of the cast and crew. She was a little early, but she had her books with her. She could always cram some studying in while she was waiting for everyone else to show up. As she opened the door to the hallway where the entrance to the room was situated, she was a little shocked to find someone else already there.

   She had expected to be the first to arrive – as usual – so the sight of the boy sitting cross-legged on the floor with his back against the wall and a bottle of water in front of him had taken her by surprise. He flinched at the sound of the door opening and briefly looked up at her as she approached. Given her chosen field of study and background, her attention was immediately drawn to the bottle of prescription medication he was in the process of putting away into the pocket of the bulky black parka he was wearing. She was curious as to what it was, but knew it really wasn't any of her business.

   Sarah observed him as she got closer to him. While definitely no fashionista herself, his appearance struck her as rather strange. Nothing seemed to match. His coat looked brand new, but his other clothes looked very outdated, like they were from the nineties. His black hair was styled in a similar way to that of the actors she had seen in the old black and white movies that her grandmother liked to watch; short, combed back into a neat side parting and heavily gelled down. A few stray strands kept falling in front of his right eye, which he repeatedly raked back with his fingers.

   Then she felt a little guilty for scrutinizing him in this way. Who was she to judge, after all? She didn't even know him. People could dress however they wanted, right?

   “Hi,” she said to him, smiling. “Are you here for the meeting?”

   He raised his head to look up at her, and she was mildly confused by the somewhat fearful expression on his face. She wasn't used to getting that kind of reaction from people. She wasn't exactly the most intimidating person in the world.

   “Are you okay?” She laughed nervously, putting her bag on the floor and sitting down next to him. “Don't worry. I'm not that scary, I promise.”

   She smiled at him again, trying to lighten the mood a little and was relieved when he smiled back, albeit only slightly.

   “So, _are_ you here for the meeting? For Alex's movie?” she tried again.

   “Yeah,” he replied in a soft voice. “I'm playing a part in it. I'm Tim.”

   “Oh, of course! Alex told me about you.” Sarah was a little surprised, as he wasn't anything like she had been expecting. “You're Brian's friend, right?”

   “Yeah,” he nodded and grinned. “I'm his best friend.”

   “I'm Sarah.” She held out her hand to him. “Nice to meet you, Tim.”

   “You too,” he said, shaking her hand. “You're Sarah in the movie too then, I guess? Like I'm Tim and Brian's Brian?”

   “Yeah,” she laughed. “I don't think Alex could be bothered making up other names for the characters. It does make things easier on us though.”

   “Yeah, it's kinda cool because I'm Brian's best friend in the movie too, just like in real life.”

   Sarah couldn't help noticing how he wasn't making eye contact with her, and just kept looking around at the walls and floor as he spoke, and she wondered why someone so seemingly timid would want to audition for a role in a movie. Granted, it would probably be a movie that hardly anyone was going to see, but still. Maybe it was just because she was a girl. But her curiosity got the better of her.

   “So have you always wanted to be an actor, Tim?”

   He laughed a little. It was unexpected and she found the sound of his laughter kind of endearing.

   “God, no.” He picked up his bottle of water and took a drink from it before continuing. “I only went to the audition because Brian wanted to go. I was just waiting outside for him and then when he was done he asked me if I wanted to try out too. 'If I can do it, you can do it,' he said to me. I didn't really want to. But I did it anyway because I didn't want to make Brian mad at me.”

   “I don't think I've ever seen Brian get mad at anyone. I don't think he has it in him. Does he get mad at you a lot?”

   “No, never. I'm his best friend,” he replied, as if puzzled as to why she had asked the question in the first place.

   “I see.” Sarah frowned and smiled slightly, not quite understanding his logic.

   “I'm glad I did do it though,” Tim suddenly said after a few seconds of silence. “I was real nervous when I was reading out the lines and I thought I kinda sucked at it, but Alex chose me out of everyone else, so I guess I must have done a pretty good job, right? I felt really honored when Alex told me that he was giving me the role, but now I'm really worried. I hope I don't disappoint him.”

   Sarah suddenly felt bad for him because she knew why he had been given the role, but she wasn't about to burst his bubble. Besides, not even the best actors in the world could salvage that goddamn script. She nudged him with her elbow and smiled at him as he looked up at her.

   “Well, Alex obviously thought you were good enough, so stop worrying, okay?” She patted his arm. “You'll be fine.”

   “Thanks.” He lowered his head and smiled.

   “That's okay. We're all really friendly, nobody's gonna yell at you or anything if you make a mistake.” He seemed to become more relaxed the more she spoke to him and she was glad she had made the effort to reassure him. “Do you know Seth and Jay? Seth's the camera guy and Jay's the... script supervisor, I think? Or something like that anyway.”

   He shook his head. “No. Just Brian.”

   “Let me guess, you're his best friend, right?”

   He looked up at her and grinned.

   “Are you making fun of me?”

   “A little. I'm sorry.”

   They laughed.

   “So, are you a film student as well?” he suddenly asked.

   “No, I'm just doing this as a favor to Alex. We're old friends and no girls went to the audition,” she replied. “I study chemistry.”

   “Chemistry?” he repeated, raising his eyebrows. “Wow, you must be really smart. Do you wanna be a doctor or something?”

   “No, a pharmacist. Like my parents.”

   “Family business, huh? Must be nice.”

   “Yeah, it is.” She smiled and nodded, suddenly thinking about how fortunate she was that her parents' house was so close to the college and that she got to go home to them every night. “What do your folks do?”

   Sarah noticed his expression change and she instantly regretted asking him. What if they were dead? That would be awkward. She hadn't meant to upset him. He pursed his lips for a few moments. She was just about to apologize to him when he spoke.

   “They work in a hospital.”

   She inwardly breathed a sigh of relief as he answered.

   “The same one?”

   He looked at her and smiled.

   “Yeah, that's where they met. My dad's a psychiatrist and my mom's a nurse.” He started to chew his thumbnail. “But I don't live with them anymore. I have my own house now.”

   “Really?” She was genuinely surprised that he lived alone; there was something about him that she found somewhat childlike and fragile, and he didn't seem like he'd be able to cope on his own. “Must be pretty cool having your own place at your age, huh?”

   He shrugged. “I guess.”

   They sat in silence for a little while, before Sarah looked at her watch and stood up, placing her hands against the small of her back and sighing impatiently.

   “This is really uncomfortable,” she said. “The meeting starts in ten minutes. Why haven't they unlocked the room yet?”

   “It is unlocked.”

   “What?” Sarah walked to the door of the room and turned the handle, letting it swing open before turning back to Tim. “Why didn't you say anything earlier?”

   “You didn't ask.”

   She rolled her eyes and frowned at him.

   “So why have you been sitting out here on the floor all this time?”

   “Because I don't like being alone in rooms that can be locked when I don't have the key.”

   She went to pick up her bag and looked down at him, tilting her head slightly and he stared back up at her. She noticed that the fearful expression had returned to his face. He lowered his head and started chewing his thumbnail again, and she suddenly felt very protective towards him.

   _“Always were a sucker for a tortured soul, weren't you, Sarah?”_ she thought wryly to herself.

   She reached down, offering her hand to him.

   “Well, I'm here now, so you're not alone anymore,” she said. “Come on, I'll make sure no evil janitors lock us in.”

   He looked back up and nodded, smiling and looking a little embarrassed. He took her hand and stood up, picking up his bottle of water, and they walked towards the room. She could hear the bottle of pills rattling in his pocket, and she was even more curious about them now, but she wasn't going to ask him. That wouldn't be right, and she had been raised to know better than that.

   Besides, she really liked him. He was different and interesting, and she wanted to get to know him better.

   “Thanks for being so nice to me, Sarah. I don't feel worried anymore.”

   “No problem, Tim,” she said, smiling. “I think this is going to be fun.”

   For the first time, she was actually looking forward to acting in Alex's awful movie.

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #17  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IqsAWxVUUIU
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	10. Revival, Revelation, Rebellion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim wakes up back in the motel room.

 

    

    

    

    _“HOW MUCH DO YOU HATE”_

    

    

_July 27 th 2014_

 

   Tim was lying on his side on his motel room bed, staring at the door. He had been awake for a little while, but he hadn't moved. His head felt fuzzy, his limbs felt heavy and he was breathing through his mouth. He didn't know how he had gotten back there from the hospital, but that was par for the course for Tim.

   He surmised from the familiar sharp pain in the deltoid muscle of his left arm that he had been injected with something. Diazepam? Promethazine? Haloperidol? Lorazepam? He didn't know. Nobody ever really bothered to tell him which one they were giving him in the hospital, he had just learned the names from having heard them being urgently spoken in his presence so many times as he was tackled to the floor and held there face down. No, Tim was definitely no stranger to the feeling of waking up after being on the receiving end of an emergency sedative shot, but it had been a while. In fact, it almost gave him a sense of nostalgia.

   But unlike the numerous times it had happened in the past, he knew there would be nobody coming through that door to make sure he was okay; nobody to bring him a glass of water; nobody to shine a small light into his eyes; nobody to check his pulse; nobody to hold his hand and ask him if he was feeling better now. Nobody to give a shit.

   He forced himself to sit up and shook his head before rubbing his eyes with his thumb and forefinger. He gently traced his fingers down to his mouth, wincing as they made contact with his swollen lower lip and bruised chin. Then he rolled up the right leg of his jeans and inspected the mess of scar tissue that made up the skin on his knee and shin in an attempt to ascertain the cause of the lightly throbbing ache. He raised his eyebrows a little upon seeing how discolored and inflamed the area was.

   _“Whatever,”_   he thought, covering his leg up again. _“I've had worse. Fuck it.”_

   Considering in what little regard his other self usually held his wellbeing, he was surprised not to have woken up with two broken wrists, or a dislocated shoulder, or a couple of smashed fingers. Something mildly debilitating at least. In fact, as far as physical injuries were concerned, he had gotten off rather lightly if the worst of it was a busted lip and a sore leg.

   He picked up the bottle of water from the bedside table and drank from it. Just before he swallowed, he realized that he wasn't sure where it had come from. He held the liquid in his mouth for a few moments before spitting it back into the bottle.

   _“Stupid, Tim,”_   he thought, getting up unsteadily from the bed and heading slowly to the bathroom. _“Don't be fucking stupid again. Never forget. You can't trust anything or anyone. Not anymore.”_

    _Stupid and weak._

   “Yeah,” he said aloud, his speech slurred and voice croaky. “Stupid and weak.”

   Once in the bathroom, he poured the water down the sink and rinsed out the bottle, proceeding to refill it from the faucet. After drinking it down in one and refilling it again, he caught sight of his reflection. The image of his own glassy-eyed face staring back at him disgusted him and he slammed his hand flat against the mirror, blocking it out.

   “I hate you.”

   He removed his hand from the mirror after a few seconds and looked carefully at his injured lip. He gingerly peeled it back to reveal a bloody perforated line which formed a perfect impression of his upper incisors. He let go of his lip, letting it painfully flip back up and narrowed his eyes to his reflection.

   “You worthless...dumb...prick.”

    _Now you listen to me. This is your life now. You're on your own. Forever. Don't trust anybody. Don't make friends. Don't have fun. Don't drink alcohol. Don't have sex. And don't you dare think about being happy. Those are things that normal people do. You're not normal. You're sick, remember? You'll never be cured. Nobody will ever love you, not even the woman who gave birth to you, so quit your daydreaming about it. Just take your pills and be a good little fucking victim. It's all you ever were and all you ever will be. It's never going to get any better than this. And don't you ever forget it._

   “I won't.”

    _Good boy._

   He grabbed a towel and hooked it over the corners of the mirror, covering it up completely.

   After a few moments, Tim went back into the room and noticed his bottle of pills on the writing desk. He picked it up and saw that masking tape had been wrapped around it, attaching something to the side of it. He read the words which had been scrawled on the tape.

 

 **FOR LUCIE**  
**GONE BUT**  
**NOT**  
**FORGOTTEN**

 

   “What the hell...?” he muttered.

   Sitting down at the desk, he started to pick at the tape with his fingernails, but it kept tearing and it was taking too long and he lost patience. Ignoring his lightheadedness and the pain in his leg, he went to retrieve his duffel bag and took Jay's pocket knife from it. He slid the blade beneath the tape and sliced it open before peeling it away from the bottle. Stuck to the adhesive side of the tape was a USB flash drive. He put the knife on the bedside table and then detached the device from the tape.

   He looked at it for a few seconds, wondering if he really wanted to know what was on it, or if he really cared. It couldn't be anything good considering what they'd done to him. Did it really matter what message they wanted to send him? They had drugged him, took him back to the one place he hated the most, tied him to a bed, held him hostage to his own fucking medical condition and interrogated him. And that was just the stuff he could remember.

   Thinking about the details again brought tears to his eyes and he started to cry, suddenly feeling afraid, feeling vulnerable, feeling that there was someone lurking in the room just out of the corner of his eye, waiting to take him back there, to do those things to him again, to make him beg for his own medication, to make him talk about things he didn't want to talk about. Ever. To anyone.

   “That's why I fucking lie all the fucking time.”

    _What's the matter? Are you too chicken to find out what's on that thing?_

   “No.”

    _Liar._

   “No, I'm not.”

   He wiped his face with the back of his hand before lifting Jay's laptop out of the bag and putting it on the desk. He inserted the flash drive into the USB port and switched the laptop on. While he was waiting for it to boot up, he got up to look for his cigarettes. Where were they? He couldn't see them anywhere. His lighter was in his pocket, but not his cigarettes. He couldn't find them. Shit. The eventual start-up notification sound of the laptop distracted him from his nicotine cravings and he went back over to the desk. He sat down and logged in, the password and desktop layout remaining exactly the same as Jay had them set to before he went off to Benedict Hall. It was 4:33 pm and the date was the 27th according to the clock in the corner of the screen, so he hadn't lost more than a day.

   Tim navigated to the drive folder and there was a single video file stored on it, named “Thanks For The Memories – S”. He clicked on it. It was just a video. It couldn't hurt him. What was the worst that could happen? He folded his arms and watched.

   The first thing he saw on the screen was his own car in the motel parking lot at night, before the camera was placed down on its roof and turned around to face the door of cabin number 12. Then there was a cut and the door was suddenly open. After a few seconds, a masked Sarah and Lucie emerged from his room, carrying his unconscious body between them – Lucie holding his legs, Sarah with her arms hooked beneath his own and her hands clasped together over the center of his chest, his head leaning back against her stomach and arms dangling down at either side. The video cut again as soon as they left the frame and panned to show a red cargo van with tinted windows, its rear doors open and him lying on his side on a mattress in the back. His wrists were tied together with rope in front of him and attached to a hook on one of the side panels. Then Lucie came into the shot and slammed the doors shut before turning to face the camera.

   “Okay,” she said. “What now?”

   Tim suddenly hit the space bar, pausing the video on her face. He put his hand over his mouth and started to laugh, still feeling the effects of whatever drug it was he'd been given. It was funny, right? After all, it wasn't every day you got to watch a video of your own abduction. He laughed more, clawing his fingers through his hair and twisting it around them, pulling it as he clenched his fist.

   He resumed the video and immediately stopped laughing. The scene changed from the parking lot to the hospital room; to him on that bed, his back arched up from the mattress, rigid, shaking arms and splay-fingered hands held down at the wrists, and his twitching head with its seemingly irisless eyes and mouth with saliva leaking out of the corner. And Sarah. Standing there, watching him, before looking up at the camera and waving.

   Tim lowered his head and covered his face with his hand, peeking out at the laptop screen through the gaps between his fingers.

   “Thanks, Sarah,” Tim said gently. “Thanks a lot.”

   The next scene was a cemetery. It was daylight. Whoever was holding the camera was walking along the path. After a few seconds, the person stopped and focused the camera on one particular simple headstone with a small bouquet of flowers leaning against it. Tim instantly paused the video, his mouth falling open as he read the words engraved on it.

    

 **IN LOVING MEMORY**  
**OF**  
**LUCIE RACHEL CARMEL**  
**DEC. 3, 1987**  
**MAY 11, 2002**  
**BELOVED DAUGHTER**  
**AND SISTER**

 

   “What the fuck...”

   He resumed the video, but all that remained after the cut was a few seconds of white text over a black background.

    

**YOUR FAULT**

    

   Tim was confused. He didn't know what to make of it. Maybe it was fake, some kind of clever video effect, but it looked real enough. Who was this girl? Why was it his fault? Who was the woman he had slept with the previous night? He tried to think straight, to clear his head, but that was hard with a heavy-duty tranquilizer hangover. He connected to the motel's Wi-Fi, opened a browser and searched for the name. An old news article from 2002 was the first result and he clicked on it.

   As he read the article, things became a little clearer. She was fourteen when she died. She had committed suicide. She had been found hanging from a tree. In Rosswood Park. She lived locally. The article also pointed out that she was never a patient at the nearby psychiatric hospital that happened to have been severely damaged by fire on the night of her death.

    _They think you killed her. They know you escaped from the hospital that night. That's why they hurt you. They want to punish you._

   “But I didn't!” Tim yelled, tears streaming down his face, feeling simultaneously scared, offended and angry.

    _How do you know? Maybe you did and you don't remember. That's what people like you do, right? Black out and kill people?_

   “People like me? I'm no killer!”

    _You killed Alex._

   “That was self-defense!”

    _And Brian._

   “That was an accident! Shut up! Just fucking shut up!”

   Tim picked up his bottle of pills and was about to take one when he stopped.

   “Fuck this shit,” he said, hurling the bottle across the room. “Fuck it.”

   Sarah had probably switched them with something else anyway. They could be anything. They could be poison. Don't trust anything. That was probably a bullshit article he'd just read. She had written it and planted it on that news site somehow. That girl could have died anywhere. That grave could be anywhere. Sarah was just fucking with his head because she hated him. This was her revenge.

   Tim didn't care anymore. He was sick of taking pills anyway. They were just the leash his doctor used to maintain control over him, to keep him running back to him like a dog to his master. They kept him trapped. His freedom was an illusion, he might as well still be locked up in a fucking hospital room. The pills marked him out as different, they were a weapon to be used against him. They made him a target, made him a victim. So what if he had more seizures? He'd had seizures all his life, since the day he was fucking born. He always would, whether he took pills or not. He could deal with it. Just like he could deal with the voices. And his other self. And That Thing. After all, nobody had cared about making his seizures worse when they were strapping him into a chair, wedging a piece of plastic between his teeth and sticking electrodes to his head. Nobody had cared then. Then it was just a price worth fucking paying to make him start talking again after the fire. He was never going to get better anyway. He was tired of living like an old man. Get sick. See your doctor. Take your pills. Get sick again. Go back to your doctor. Take more pills. Fuck. This. Shit. He was done.

   Tim stood up and grabbed his wallet and room key from the bedside table. His head was swimming and he felt dizzy and his leg hurt, but he needed cigarettes. He didn't resent this particular chemical dependency because it was his choice. He had chosen to start smoking and he would choose when to quit, if at all. It was nobody else's fucking business. He left the motel room and made his way slowly to the store, keeping one hand on the wall of the cabins to steady himself and shooting a contemptuous glance towards number 11 as he passed it.

   It took him about a minute to get there. He opened the door of the office and went in. The manager was standing behind the counter. He was a man with dark hair and a small beard. He looked to be around fifty years of age and Tim couldn't help wondering if that was what his father looked like. The father whose name he didn't even fucking know.

   Tim said hello and please and thank you as he asked for his cigarettes. He was always polite to his elders and people he didn't know. It was one of those things that they had drummed into him in the hospital and he had never been able to shake it off.

   “Are you okay?” the manager asked him, pointing to his own chin. “What happened to your face?”

   Tim looked down, pretending to count the bills in his wallet while he was thinking up an answer.

   “Well, that's kind of a funny story actually,” Tim said, his speech now just slightly slower than normal. He looked up and smiled before continuing. “You see, I have epilepsy, and someone thought it'd be a really good joke to hide my medication from me, you know, to see what'd happen to me. So eventually, I collapsed and smashed my face in on a sink and then had a seizure on the floor of a public restroom. And everyone got to watch. Isn't that funny?”

   The manager frowned at him before turning around to get his cigarettes. Tim took out the cash for them and put the wallet away in the back pocket of his jeans. While he waited, he let his eyes drift across the counter and spotted a red hardback ledger which had been left open and facing the other side of the desk. It was the motel register. He caught sight of his own upside down name written in his own handwriting that he had signed two days earlier when he had checked in. Then he read the only name that followed his.

   Kayla Carmel.

   He laughed, not really caring whether the manager heard him or not. Then he took a deep breath and looked up at the shiny glass bottles displayed on the back wall, not even bothering to try to resist the overwhelming wave of hedonistic self-destruction that was washing over him. Fuck the consequences. He wasn't a child, he was a man. He was through with being told what to do. And when he tried to do the right thing, he got screwed over anyway. So whatever. Bring it on.

   The manager put his cigarettes on the counter and Tim pulled his wallet back out of his pocket.

   “What's the strongest thing you got?” he asked, nodding his head towards the rows of bottles.

   The manager turned his head briefly before replying.

   “Whiskey.” He picked up a half pint bottle of the golden liquid and held it up.

   “I'll take two, please,” Tim said, smiling.

    

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from totheark Extraction  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7pkJ26HzFu8
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy the story!


	11. Facing The Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayla tries to explain things to Tim.

    

    

    

    

    

    _“YOU WILL NEVER BE FORGIVEN”_

    

    

    

_July 27 th 2014_

 

   Sarah went into her room in her parents’ house and sat down at the vanity table, putting the keys to her van and a can of beer down onto it. She was glad to be back home, glad to be back near the college, near to where they had filmed _Marble Hornets._ Near to where she had first met Tim, sitting on the floor in that hallway all those years ago. She was tired but she didn’t want to go to sleep yet. She was confused by how she felt about things. She thought she would feel gratified and sated from seeing him suffer a little, but she didn’t. She just felt empty. She didn’t regret doing any of it though. It had been nice to see him again.

   She was surprised that he figured out who she was and it had felt good when he said her name. But that still didn’t change anything, didn’t change the fact that she’d lost everything because of him. She knew he hadn’t meant to do it, but that was irrelevant. The consequences remained the same and she was damned if she was going to suffer alone. The two of them were the only ones left. They were old friends, after all, and friends are supposed to be there for each other. She had been there for him when he needed her back in college after Brian went missing. But she could never be that person again. Things could never be like they were before. They had both changed too much since then.

   She took off her mask and looked in the mirror at the band-aid that traversed the bridge of her bruised nose. She peeled it off, wincing a little as she did so. It didn’t look too bad, she had washed off the blood in Tim’s motel room after Kayla had left. It just looked like a deep cut now. It hurt like hell though, and she laughed at the pain.

   “You got me good there, Wright,” she said to the mirror, opening the beer and raising a toast to her reflection before drinking. “But I got you back. Cheers.”

   She hadn’t seen him in person when he was like that before, only in videos when he was wearing his mask. It had been kind of thrilling, and she wondered if she had subconsciously missed him with the baseball bat on purpose. She only wished Kayla hadn’t been there getting in the way, then it would have been even better. But she had been there and that pissed Sarah off and she had taken it out on him. She had thought about just letting him kill Kayla there and then, but that would have been too much hassle to have to deal with later on down the line. There were internet records, phone records that would lead back to Sarah if anyone ever came looking for her.

   She retrieved the pack of cigarettes from her pocket that she had taken from his motel room before lighting one up and smoking it. She thought about when they were alone in that room together, him passed out on the bed. She had thought about tying him up again and waiting for him to wake up before giving him another dose, but figured that wasn’t necessary. She had enough time.

   After cleaning the dirt and blood off his face, she had lay down on the bed next to him. She shook his shoulder roughly and said his name, pulling his eyelids open with her thumb to make sure he definitely was still out of it. Then she had taken off her mask and turned onto her side, so she was facing him. She leaned over, kissed him on the cheek and then stroked his face.

   “I miss you,” she said gently.

   She didn’t know how long she had stayed like that, just lying on the bed and staring at him, wondering if things really could ever be good between them again, if they could be real friends again. But then she remembered why she was there in the first place, remembered what he’d caused and she shook herself out of it. She did hate him, she really did. She wanted to make him suffer, like she suffered. Everyone was gone because of him. Everyone. It would never work. There was no going back.

   She had gotten up and put her mask back on before going to get her bag out of the van. She turned on her laptop and edited a quick video together, copying the file over to a flash drive and taping it to his bottle of pills. Then she packed her things away, picked up the pack of cigarettes and walked out of the room without looking back. She had told Kayla to go home, but noticed that her car was still there in the parking lot.

   _“Whatever,”_ Sarah had thought. _“If the stupid bitch wants to stick around here to face the music when he wakes up, that’s her business.”_

   But now she was back at the house, surrounded by reminders of what she once had, the solitude overwhelmed her and she felt a little depressed and scared and lost.

   But at least she was away from Kayla now. Sarah found her annoying and had resented having to spend so much time with her, but she hadn’t put up too much of a resistance to her plan. She mostly did as she was told, with one or two deviations. Everyone had a price, or a cause, or a motive, and Kayla’s had been very exploitable. Kayla wasn’t dumb, but she was gullible. When someone wants answers that badly, they can be easily manipulated into doing things they wouldn’t normally do, things that they knew were wrong. After all, there’s nothing like a dead sister, a pile of letters and a healthy dose of curiosity to manifest into a shield from one’s conscience while lacing a bottle of coke with pulverized sleeping pills. There had been some pretense of an internal ethical struggle, but self-interest always won through in the end.

   Bad things happened to good people, good people did bad things, and the end always justified the means. That was just the way shit worked.

    

******

 

   Kayla felt guilty.

   She had started all this. It was all her fault. She should have just left the past dead and buried where it belonged and moved on with her life. But she hadn't. She just had to go digging up old memories. What was she thinking? Why had she trusted Sarah so much? After all, she was practically a stranger. But it was too late for regrets now. The damage had been done. Old wounds had been reopened, people had gotten hurt. Her dad would be disgusted with her if he were here now. So would Lucie.

   Why had she agreed to do that? Putting drugs in someone's drink and kidnapping him? Taking her dead sister's name to try to trigger him? That wasn't the kind of person she was. Yes, she did want to know the truth about what happened to Lucie, but to go to those lengths? To hurt someone who already had so many problems? Was she really so heartless? Had it even been worth it?

   The answer to that was no, it hadn't been worth it. She had realized that while watching the footage from the old hospital on Sarah's laptop in the van on the journey back to the motel. Moral issues aside, it had been pointless. He had kind of confirmed what was written in the letters, but she hadn't discovered anything that she didn't already know with regard to the night Lucie died. Except for the fact that he tried to kill himself too. With that knife. She hadn't known that before. But she had suspected as much as soon as she saw the scar on his wrist. And she had gotten him to talk about that before Sarah took him to that awful place anyway.

   But he didn't remember anything. Unless he was lying again, but she didn't think so. If he was going to lie, why admit to escaping from the hospital that night in the first place? It's not like anyone would be able to prove otherwise twelve years after the fact if he'd denied it. No, he was telling the truth, she was sure of it. Maybe he had blocked it out because of the trauma or something, maybe that was why he couldn't remember. But that didn't explain why he didn't remember anything from before, didn't explain why he didn't know anything about the letters. But in the end, all they had succeeded in doing was further destabilizing someone who was already really messed up to start with. Maybe that was what Sarah had planned all along.

   It had all been Sarah's idea. She should never have listened to her. Sarah didn't care about her or Lucie, she had just used her because she had some kind of grudge against him and wanted to punish him. But Sarah knew she couldn't take him alone, and told Kayla that if she helped her, they would both get what they wanted.

   Not that Kayla was absolving herself of responsibility in this mess. She knew she was just as much to blame as Sarah. Just because she had felt sorry for him when she found out that he had seizures, just because she had slept with him to try to salve her conscience, just because she had talked Sarah into taking him back to the motel and not leaving him out there, it didn't make her any less culpable, it didn't make her any better of a person. On the contrary, it made her worse than Sarah. Sarah was motivated by pure hatred for him, it was understandable that she'd be comfortable with hurting him, but Kayla wasn't. Kayla didn't hate him. Yet she'd gone along with Sarah's plans anyway. And why?

   Because she couldn't understand why her little sister had taken her own life at the age of fourteen. Lucie had always been a little quiet and shy and nervous, but she had seemed happy. Kayla and her dad had always loved and cherished her. She had never mentioned feeling depressed or lonely. Her suicide had come as a bolt from the blue to them. But they later found out that she had been keeping secrets from them.

   Kayla had found the letters in Lucie's room shortly after her death, but her dad had made her promise not to investigate them further. It had hurt him too much to think about it and he preferred to just grieve and move on, so she had respected his wishes. But he had passed away too recently, so she figured she had nothing to lose by looking into the letters again. She would never even have heard of the name Timothy Wright if it hadn't been for those letters.

   So she posted a message containing his name and mentioning Rosswood Park on one of those reunion websites pretending to be a long lost cousin who wanted to get back in touch with him, and asking anyone who remembered him to contact her. And Sarah had replied, saying that she knew him and knew where he was. She even sent her a photo of him. Kayla sent a message back to her telling her about Lucie and the letters. Sarah responded almost immediately, suggesting they meet in person and Kayla had said yes.

   They arranged to meet in the parking lot of Rosswood Park. The red van was already there when Kayla arrived. When she first saw Sarah getting out of the van and approaching her car, she had felt a little freaked out by her appearance; thin, very short dark hair, wearing a baggy black hoodie and jeans. She also wore a black surgeon's mask over her face. Kayla had still never seen her without it.

   When she got out of her car, Sarah had looked at her in a strange way, slowly tracing her eyes up along her body, raising her eyebrows and laughing a little.

   “Oh yeah,” she nodded, approvingly. “You're definitely his type. He'll like you.”

   Kayla didn't quite understand what she meant by that, but she had other things on her mind so she just let it pass.

   Sarah told Kayla that she had known Tim in college, that he was a liar, that he wasn't to be trusted. She said that if he was asked directly about Lucie, he would lie and clam up, so leave everything to her. She said she knew how to get the truth out of him, knew how to push his buttons. She told Kayla to just follow her instructions and she would get her the answers she wanted, and Kayla had agreed.

   She had wavered when Sarah had first mentioned giving him drugs though. But Sarah had said it was okay, she didn't mean street drugs. She was a pharmacist, she could get her hands on prescription sedatives. She knew the safe dosage to give him, she knew what she was doing. He wouldn't come to any harm.

   “But is this really necessary?” Kayla had asked her as they sat in the van in the motel parking lot, observing which room Tim went into just after he had checked in to the motel. “Maybe he's changed, maybe he doesn't lie anymore.”

   “Okay,” Sarah replied. “Test him then. Ask him about his childhood, see if he tells you the truth. Or ask him what his parents do for a living. Maybe he'll give you the right answer.”

   “What is the right answer?”

   Sarah snickered slightly and rolled her eyes.

   “There isn't one. He doesn't know.”

   “Oh.”

   “How about this. He tells you the truth about that, we do it your way. He lies, we do it my way. Do we have a deal?” Sarah offered her hand out to Kayla, who nodded and accepted it.

   “Deal.”

   “Good.” Sarah started the van once Tim was inside cabin number 12. “Don't pussy out on me. Don't go back on your word. I hate when people do that.”

   “I won't, I promise.”

   So now here Kayla was, hiding and feeling guilty in cabin number 11. She was sitting on the bed, crying and smoking and drinking water. She didn't know what to do. She was worried about Tim, but she was afraid of him too. She wanted to knock on his door and see if he was all right and explain, but she didn't know how he would react to her. She put her hand to her neck to where it was still sore from when he had grabbed her and hurt her, but she knew now that it hadn't really been him who had done that, just like it hadn't really been him who had punched Sarah in the face. She hadn't realized just how sick he really was and she felt terrible, knowing she had helped Sarah take him to that old hospital, helped her lift him onto that bed, watched while she had strapped his wrists down, complied when she was ordered to go away and wait in another room, stayed there and hid with her hands over her ears as she heard him screaming for help.

   All she had been able to do for him was leave him a bottle of water on his bedside table back in his motel room while he was still unconscious, just after she and Sarah laid him down on his bed several hours ago. Then Sarah had told her to get out and go back to her room.

   “Trust me,” Sarah said to her. “You wanna be as far away from here as possible when he wakes up. Just get your shit back in your car and go home.”

   “Is he gonna be all right?” Kayla asked, looking worriedly down at Tim, who had dirt all over his forehead and nose and dried blood around his mouth from where Sarah had kicked him.

   “He's a big boy,” Sarah said coldly. “He'll live. Now if you don't mind, I've still got some stuff I need to do here.”

   Kayla nodded and headed out the door, shooting one final glance back at Tim before she left. She saw the red van leave the parking lot about two hours later.

   But she hadn't gone home. She had booked her room for another night. She couldn't leave him again. This was her fault. She owed him this at least. She would just have to stop being a coward and deal with it, like she had when she was trying to get him out of the hospital, but she had been running on pure adrenaline then. All she could do was try to explain and take whatever it was he threw back at her. She knew he was awake because she could hear him yelling and talking to himself.

   Kayla flinched as she suddenly heard something bang against the wall – like an object had been thrown against it – followed about a minute later by his door opening and slamming shut. She dropped to the floor and hid, hearing him walking slowly past her room. She crawled over to the window and looked out of it, watching after him as he carefully headed towards the office. She waited until he eventually opened the door and went inside.

   Okay, this was her chance. Her chance to confront the schizophrenic guy whose second personality had only hours ago had his hand around her throat and almost broken her neck with a baseball bat, and who was severely pissed off with her at best. Great.

   _“Maybe I'm the crazy one, huh?”_   she thought.

   She would wait outside the office for him. At least then if he did try to hurt her, the manager would hear her screaming. But judging by the time it had taken him to get from his room to the office, he didn't really look like he was capable of hurting anyone. But she couldn't be certain. He was unpredictable and she was probably the last person he wanted to see right now.

   Kayla took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes, which were red and puffy from lack of sleep and crying. She walked to the door and hesitated for a few seconds, before eventually leaving the room and running past the cabins towards the office.

   When she got there, she stood and waited for Tim, nervously chewing her lower lip. After a few minutes, the door opened and he came through it. His eyes were red from crying like hers were. He was carrying something in a brown paper bag and had an unlit cigarette in his mouth. He took his lighter from his pocket and lit it, leaning back against the wall as he took a drag from it.

   _“Here goes,”_   she thought. _“Now it's time to do it my way.”_

    

******

 

   Tim exhaled the smoke gratefully. He felt a little better now. He still felt lightheaded though, and the nicotine rush probably wasn't going to help. He leaned against the wall with his head back and eyes closed while he smoked.

   “Tim? Are you all right?”

   He opened his eyes wide and turned his head, standing up straight and facing her. He couldn't believe it. What the fuck did she want?

   “You got some fucking nerve, you know that?!” he yelled, jabbing his finger in her face and causing the two bottles in the bag to clink together.

   “What's that?” she asked, looking at the bag.

   “That's none of your goddamn business, that's what that is.”

   He walked past her and started to slowly make his way back to his room. He didn't have the energy to deal with this right now, he just wanted to get back inside, he just wanted to go back to sleep and not think about anything. He didn't feel safe out here, not with her here. If she was still here, maybe Sarah was here too. But he was stuck here, he was in no condition to drive. He heard her footsteps running up behind him and thought about speeding up, but he didn't want to sacrifice whatever shred of dignity he had left by falling flat on his face in front of her.

   He decided to try to not let his emotions show, because she could use them against him and hurt him again. That was how she got him before. He would keep calm, he wouldn't yell at her even if he wanted to. And he did want to. He started to read the numbers on the cabin doors as he passed them to distract himself from her.

   One.

   “How are you feeling?” she asked him tentatively, putting a hand on his shoulder which he immediately shrugged off.

   “Fucking great. Never better.”

   Two.

   “Listen, Tim, I'm sorry about everything that happened. I truly am. But I need to talk to you about something...” She grabbed his arm and he pulled it away from her.

   “Don't touch me.”

   Three. Four.

   “Please let me explain.”

   He suddenly stopped and glared at her, and the sight of her face made him feel angry, feel vindictive, and his fear subsided and was replaced by belligerence and aggression, and he just wanted to be cruel, to say something to hurt her and humiliate her. He wanted her to feel like a victim.

   “Don't bother!” he yelled in her face, before lowering his voice again and giggling and smiling at her. “I saw your little movie. Have fun putting that together, did you? You enjoy seeing me like that, huh? All helpless and twitchy and freaky and shit? Is that what gets you off? Is that why you asked me so many questions about it? Did it turn you on when I talked about it? Is that why you wanted me to fuck you?”

   “What?! No! That was...It doesn't matter. What movie? I don't know what you're talking about!” She started to cry. “I want to talk to you about Lucie!”

   “What? Aren't you Lucie? Oh, you mean dead Lucie!” He laughed callously. “Yeah, I know exactly why you wanna talk to me about Lucie. I totally get it. I was in a mental hospital.” He prodded at his temple with his finger. “Not right in the head. Never was. So clearly I'm some homicidal maniac who goes around stringing up teenage girls from fucking trees, right?”

   He stared at her coldly, smirking and enjoying her shocked expression as he took a drag from his cigarette and slowly blew a cloud of smoke out into her face. He started to walk away from her, but she kept following him.

   Five.

   “No!” she yelled. “What kind of a person do you think I am?!”

   He stopped and laughed in her face.

   “Oh, jeez, I'm sorry. Obviously I got you all wrong. But I just watched a video of you and Sarah hauling my unconscious ass into the back of a van.”

   She looked down at the ground for a few seconds and wiped her eyes.

   “Look, I'm sorry about that. That wasn't my idea. I didn't know what Sarah was gonna do.” She paused for a few moments. “But I never thought you killed Lucie, Tim, I just wanted to find out why she did it. She was my sister.”

   “How the fuck should I know? Because I tried to do it too?” He waved his scarred wrist at her before starting to walk again, but she didn't follow him this time. “'Have you had surgery on your arm, Tim?' You fucking liar, you knew all along. You think I got some special insight or something? Why the hell do you think I'd know why your sister killed herself?”

   Six. Turn the corner. Seven.

   “Because you knew her.”

   He stopped and turned around, frowning.

   “No, I didn't.”

   “You did, you just don't remember.”

   “Bullshit.”

   He started walking again, and she ran in front of him and put her hand on his chest.

   Eight. Nine.

   “Wait, Tim, I can prove it.”

   “Don't fucking touch me.”

   “I'm sorry.” She removed her hand. “Please, just come to my room and I can show you.”

   “Yeah, right,” he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes and snorting. “Is your partner in crime hiding in there waiting to stick another needle in my arm? That was her, right? I might be fucking crazy, but I'm not stupid. Not that stupid anyway.”

   “Just wait here then, I'll go get it! Or I'll bring it to your room.”

   He narrowed his eyes to her and shook his head.

   “Go fuck yourself.”

   “I'm telling you the truth, I swear!”

   “Whatever. Don't care.”

   He carried on walking, he was almost back to his room now. He was starting to feel afraid again, but he would be safe soon. He didn't believe a word she was saying. It was all lies. Sarah must have told her to say all this. Whatever proof she had was probably fake anyway. Nothing about her was real. It was all fake. Don't trust anything. She was poisonous. She was just trying to trick him again. She would hurt him again. He didn't want to hear her voice anymore, he didn't want to see her face anymore. She had laughed at him. She had betrayed him. She had humiliated him. She had made him a victim.

   Ten. Eleven.

   “Tim, you gotta believe me...”

   He turned around and glared at her, eyes wide and exhaling smoke loudly before flicking the cigarette butt away. He suddenly lost control and tears started rolling down his cheeks and he was angry with himself for letting her see him cry. Why did he have to cry so much? He was a twenty-six-year-old man, not a baby. Why couldn't he keep his emotions in check for two goddamn minutes?

   “I don't gotta do nothin'! I don't owe you shit! Just stay away from me! I hate you! You're a liar! And you're evil! And you're ugly!” he hissed at her through gritted teeth.

   “Tim, I'm sorry!” she cried desperately.

   “Yeah, I know, you said that already!” He sniffed and wiped his face. “Do you think you can just say you're sorry and flutter your fucking eyelashes at me and everything's gonna be okay again?! Because it won't! It'll _never_ be okay again! Everything's fucked! Everything's over! And it's all because of you!”

   He pulled his motel room key from his pocket and walked over to number 12, inserting it into the lock and opening the door. She ran up behind him.

   “Tim...”

   He spun around.

   “How could you?!” He was crying harder than before and he couldn't fucking stop, and he covered his nose and mouth with his hand. “How could you let her do that to me?! How could you let her take me back there?! How could you help her do it?! Do you have any idea what that was like for me?! Do you even care?!”

   “Tim, calm down...” She tried to put her hand on his shoulder but he pushed her away and went into his room.

   “Shut up! Don't tell me what to do! Just fuck off and leave me alone!” he screamed at her before slamming the door shut in her face and locking it.

   He leaned back against the door, relieved to be back in his room. But he could still hear her knocking and calling his name. Why wouldn't she leave him alone? He just wanted to be left alone.

   “Go away! I don't trust you!” he yelled.

   “Tim, I'm worried about you. Please open the door.”

   “No!”

   “Tim, please!”

   “It's too late now! That's what you said to me, isn't it?”

    _They're coming back for you._

   He got up and went over to the bed, putting the bag down on it and grabbing the TV remote. He turned the TV on and rapidly flicked through the channels.

    _They'll get you sooner or later. You can't stay in here forever._

   “Shut up shut up shut up shut up...”

   He found a music channel and turned the volume all the way up. He got up and went back to the door.

   “Ha! I can't hear you anymore! Fuck you!” he screamed over the noise with his hands covering his ears, before starting to pace around the room while muttering under his breath. “I win, I fucking win.”

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from totheark Decay  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XhwO6wm76-U
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	12. Ghosts From The Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim has a chat with an old friend.

    

    

    

    

    _“LOOK WHAT YOU HAVE CAUSED”_

    

    

_July 27 th 2014_

    

   Tim had never drank alcohol before. It had never really interested him. Even if he hadn't been told not to by his doctor, he probably wouldn't have done it anyway. The notion of wanting to get drunk had always confused him. Not because he was judgmental or thought himself superior to others for not drinking, it was just that he couldn't understand why people who were normal would voluntarily do something that made them act like they were crazy when he had spent most of his life trying to do the opposite.

   However, he had been told by one of his co-workers while on a cigarette break once that it wasn't about how it made you act, it was about how it made you feel. It was about being uninhibited, about being okay with revealing your true self to people, about not caring if you made a fool out of yourself. But they didn't sound like good things either. They just sounded like different ways of losing control. But Tim's view was colored by the fact that he was someone for whom being under the influence of some chemical substance or other had always been a mandatory permanent state, whether it was for his own good or not, and that had always been someone else's decision to make. But his co-worker had also told him that drinking could make you forget about your problems, or not care about them for a while, at least. And that was pretty much what he wanted to do right now. Forget. Not think. Not care.

   He figured that the alcohol would affect him faster since he wasn't used to it, and hoped that it combined with the tranquilizer that was still in his system would make him pass out before his next seizure. Because he knew it was going to happen sooner or later, especially since he was off his meds. It wasn't exactly a solid long-term plan, but coming up with those had never been one of Tim's strong points. But he didn't even know if he had them in his sleep. He guessed that was something he should have asked someone about at some point, but he had never liked discussing his epilepsy and would never introduce the subject unprompted with his doctors, mentioning it only when questions were asked of him regarding it.

   Maybe if he was already asleep when he had a seizure, it would stop his other self from coming through, he theorized, shortly before rolling his eyes and laughing at himself for trying to make some sense out of the way his stupid defective brain worked.

   _“Or maybe you should just quit being an asshole and call your doctor,”_   some rational part of him suggested. _“You know you can trust him, he's taken care of you since you were a kid. He's never hurt you. He'll come and take you away from this place, he'll help you.”_

   But that part of him got drowned out by a mixture of paranoia, the loud yet tinny music blaring out from the small TV's protesting, buzzing speakers, and some misguided need to reaffirm his independence to himself after what had happened. Besides, his doctor might not believe him. He might think he was making it all up or that he had started hallucinating again. But he did have the video to prove it. But then he might think that he was incapable of taking care of himself by getting himself into that situation in the first place. He might have him locked up again. And then he might start to like it again. No, he could deal with this himself. Normal people didn't go whining to their doctors every time they felt scared or something bad happened. He needed to grow the fuck up. He didn't need help from anyone.

   So he sat down on the bed, took the first bottle of whiskey out of the bag and opened it. He drank and the liquid stung the cuts on the inside of his lip, burned his throat as he swallowed and made him squeeze his eyes shut. He coughed a little and grimaced. It tasted horrible. He just hoped he'd be able to drink enough of it to take effect before it made him throw up.

   The noise of the TV was getting on his nerves but he daren't turn it off. He was afraid of what he would hear. Maybe she was still out there, yelling lies through the door about how she was concerned about his welfare all of a sudden. About how he used to know someone he had never even heard of before. He knew it was all lies. It was when he was in the hospital. The only people he knew back then were those who worked there. Most of the time it was just him and one or two members of staff when they let him out of his room. All the other long-term patients had been adults and he was normally kept separate from them. Other kids got brought in occasionally, but they only stayed for a few weeks at the most before being sent home. And Tim never tried to make friends with any of them, he saw them as intruders into his world and resented them and feared them. He used to run away and hide in his room if any of them so much as spoke to him. No, it couldn't be true, it was impossible. It didn't make sense.

   He lifted the bottle to his lips again and drank. It didn't seem as bad this time because he knew what to expect, it was still unpleasant though.

   _“Jesus, people actually do this shit for fun?”_   Tim thought incredulously, but then internally chastized himself for thinking for a moment that he was the normal one and it was everyone else that was weird. And he figured most people's first experience with alcohol hadn't included binge drinking straight hard liquor out of the bottle.

   He thought about watering it down, but decided against the idea. That wouldn't make it taste any better, it would just take him longer to drink it. So he just carried on, lighting up a cigarette before leaning his back against the headboard and stretching his legs out on the bed because his knee was still fucking killing him. He stared at the crappy pop music video that was currently playing on the TV, glaring bitterly at the smiling, beautiful, healthy people who were dancing around on the screen and singing about love and happiness and how goddamn wonderful life was.

   “Oh, fuck off,” he muttered to them as if they could hear him, before taking a large drink.

   He didn't know whether he was supposed to smoke inside the room or not, but he couldn't bring himself to care and used the metal cap of the whiskey bottle as a makeshift ashtray. He looked warily at the door. He couldn't go back out there. That would be a stupid thing to do. Anyone could be out there. It was dangerous.

   It took him about fifteen minutes to get halfway through the first bottle and then it hit him. It felt pretty good. Kind of warm and relaxing and things didn't seem so bad anymore. Still bad, but just not _as_ bad. So he drank more, no longer bothered by the taste. Ten minutes later, the first bottle was empty and Tim was drunk. His surroundings seemed to take a moment to keep up with his field of vision when he turned his head. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. Not Kayla, not Sarah, not Lucie, not his past, not his seizures, nothing. And he smiled, trying to focus on the TV through the haze of intoxication. He opened the second bottle and carried on. He managed to get through about two-thirds of it before his head fell back and his eyelids drifted closed. He started to deliberately force them back open, no longer wanting to go to sleep now that he felt better.

   The room went quiet, the noise from the TV fading out. Then the door opened and closed again and he heard someone walking across the room towards him.

   “Tim?”

   Tim stared up at the figure who was leaning over the bed looking down at him and smiled.

   “What are you doing here?” he asked, slurring his words slightly.

   “Some girl called me, told me you were here. Said she was worried about you. Are you okay?”

   “Yeah, I'm okay,” Tim giggled, rubbing his forehead. “I'm just kinda wasted. Guess I'm not much of a drinker. It's good to see you again, Jay.”

   Tim had always liked listening to Jay's voice. It was calm and deep – deeper than Tim's – and he very rarely raised it. No matter what the situation, his tone hardly ever strayed outside the emotional range of indifference and mild exasperation. Not that Jay was aloof – quite the opposite, he was brave and determined to the point of foolishness, and his heart was always in the right place – he just gave that impression sometimes.

   Jay looked up and frowned, noticing the laptop on the desk.

   “Hey, that's mine.” Jay pointed to it before turning his attention to the knife on the bedside table. “So is that. Why do you have my stuff?”

   Tim sat up and shrugged.

   “Figured you didn't need it anymore,” Tim said simply. “Besides, the last time you had that knife you went nuts and tried to stab me with it in my own goddamn house.”

   “Oh, yeah,” Jay said, as if only just remembering the incident, then sat down on the side of the bed and turned to face Tim. “So who was that girl who called me?”

   “She says I knew her sister who died, but I think she's lying.” Tim paused for a moment. “Her and Sarah kidnapped me.”

   “What? You mean Sarah from college? But she was really nice.”

   “Yeah, I know right? Seems like I can't trust anyone.”

   “You can trust me, Tim.”

   “You posted my medical records online!” Tim exclaimed.

   “Sorry about that. I just get a little caught up in things sometimes, makes me act kinda selfish. And you had just punched me in the face. That really hurt. It was like out here for days.” Jay's hand cupped the prior outline of his once swollen jaw and they both started to laugh. “That's some right hook you got there.”

   “Well, at least I'm good at something, huh?” Tim muttered, before frowning and adding softly, “Hurting people.”

   “You're good at something else too,” Jay said, smiling at him.

   “Oh yeah? What's that?”

   “Being my friend.”

   “That's funny,” Tim scoffed.

   “No, I mean it.” Jay placed his hand on Tim's shoulder. “You were a good friend to me, Tim. A better friend than I was to you anyway. You remember when That Thing attacked us in Alex's old house? You came back for me. You protected me and took care of me when I got sick. But I left you behind in that tunnel.”

   “You didn't leave me behind. I told you to run. No point in letting it get both of us.” Tim averted his eyes from Jay. “None of it would have happened in the first place if it hadn't been for me. Yeah, great fucking friend I was. You'd all have been better off if you never met me.”

   “Hey.” Jay jerked Tim's shoulder gently and Tim looked back to him. “I don't regret meeting you. I'm glad you were my friend, even if I didn't show it at the time.”

   “Thanks, Jay. That means a lot.” Tim looked down pensively for a few moments before raising his eyes back to Jay. “I know you're not really here, you know. I'm not crazy. Well, I am crazy – I mean, I'm sitting here talking to you – but...at least I _know_ I'm crazy. So I guess that makes me...”

   “Self-aware?” Jay offered helpfully.

   “I was gonna say a little less crazy, but that's more accurate, I guess.”

   “Are you really okay, Tim?” Jay suddenly asked after a few moments of silence.

   Tim shook his head and tears welled up in his eyes.

   “No. No, I'm not. I don't know what to do. I'm scared. And I'm lonely. And I'm sick. And people want to hurt me.” He smiled. “ And nobody cares. Nobody's ever gonna care.”

   “I care,” Jay said gently. He took hold of Tim's hand, but it was promptly snatched away.

   “But you're not real! You're dead! Alex shot you! You're just some illusion my fucked up mind made up to tell me shit I want to hear and make me feel better! That's all you are! I'm still alone hallucinating in a fucking locked room, just like I was when I was a kid!”

   Tim put his hands over his face and briefly rubbed his eyes with his fingers as Jay lowered his head and stared at the floor, placing his hand over the spot just to the left of his stomach where the bullet had entered his body.

   Tim suddenly felt guilty. Real or not, at least Jay was being nice to him. Tim picked up the knife and leaned forward towards him, taking hold of the hand which he had spurned only a few moments earlier.

   “I got him for you, Jay,” he whispered. “With this. I got Alex for you. And I made sure Jessica was safe. I know you were mad at me for lying to you about her, but she's alive and she's gonna be okay. I tried to save you too but it wouldn't let me. I'm sorry.”

   Jay turned turned his head, his large green eyes looking directly into Tim's.

   “I know you did, Tim.” He pulled Tim towards him, wrapped his arms around his neck and embraced him. “Thank you.”

   And then Tim broke down, burying his face in Jay's shoulder and sobbing and returning the embrace, enjoying the feeling of being held and comforted. Because in that moment, it felt real, it felt like Jay really was there with him again, holding him and stroking the hair on the back of his head, so he just pretended that was the case and thought that if all his hallucinations were like this, he wouldn't really mind having them all that much. After about a minute, Jay moved back and they stared at each other for a few moments. Jay started stroking Tim's face, wiping his tears away and pushing his hair back from his eyes.

   “I gotta go now,” Jay said softly, getting up from the bed.

   “Please don't leave me.” Tim grabbed Jay's wrist as he started to walk towards the door, but Jay gently prized Tim's fingers open to release himself from his grasp.

   “I have to.”

   “Can I come with you?” Tim asked, already knowing what the answer would be.

   Jay turned around and shook his head.

   “No, you can't come with me. Not yet.” Jay smiled. “But you'll see me again, I promise.”

   “I understand. Goodbye, Jay.”

   Tim turned away from the door, not being able to bear to watch him leave.

   “I want you to remember something, Tim.”

   Tim turned back and saw Jay standing in front of the door with one hand on the handle and his back to him.

   “What?”

   “It wasn't your fault.”

   And then Jay was gone.

   The TV blared back to life and Tim sat up with a start, breathing heavily and eyes darting around the room. He looked down and noticed that the knife really was in his hand and he gripped it tighter, so tight that his knuckles turned white. It was Jay's knife. If he let go of the knife, he was letting go of Jay and he didn't want to do that. He finished off what was left of the whiskey and smoked a cigarette with a shaking hand, inhaling and exhaling the smoke in jagged breaths.

   Once he had finished his cigarette, he staggered to the bathroom and turned on the shower, stepping into it fully clothed, the soles of his boots making a strange squeaking sound as they made contact with the tray. He looked up at the shower head and defensively held the knife blade down in his fist with his arm across his chest while the water poured over him, drenching him.

   After about five minutes, he started to feel dizzy and stepped back out into the bathroom, shivering as his sodden clothes clung to his body and blinking away the drops of water that were repeatedly falling from the ends of his hair into his eyes. He leaned back against the wall and sank to the floor, leaning his head back against the white tiles and closing his eyes for a few moments.

    _This is your life now. It's never going to get any better than this._

   Then he suddenly noticed something by the bathroom door and froze. It was there. Just standing there like it used to do in his hospital room, head slightly tilted to one side. Tim drew his knees up to his chest. He didn't know what to do. He was trapped. He couldn't go back outside. Better the devil you know, right? He gripped the knife even tighter – so tight he could feel his fingernails digging into the palm of his hand – more for the purpose of comfort than protection. But something was different. His head wasn't hurting and he wasn't coughing, but maybe that was because of the booze.

   “I see you,” Tim said breathlessly, shivering and staring up at it wide-eyed with his wet hair plastered over his forehead. “I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere.”

   Tim narrowed his eyes to it, bracing himself for it to do something. To make him feel pain, to make him start to seize, to teleport him to somewhere else, to almost drown him in a river. To do something.

   But it didn't move.

   “Aren't you gonna take me away?” It almost sounded like a request. “Why are you here then?”

   Tim didn't know why he was talking to it. It wasn't like it would answer.

   It still didn't move.

   “Come on! I don't care!” Tim yelled before lowering his voice again. “I'm not afraid of you anymore. You already took everything away from me. All my friends are either dead or hate me because of you. I got nothing to lose. Nothing I care about anyway. But this is how you like me, right? Because now you're all I got left.”

    

******

    

   Kayla went back into the office. Her conversation with Tim hadn't exactly gone well, but she couldn't really blame him. She probably would have reacted in a similar way in his position. But now she was worried about him. She had knocked on his door and called his name for ten solid minutes, but gave up after realizing that all she was achieving was hurting her knuckles and giving herself a sore throat. There was probably no way he could hear her over the loud music anyway, and even if he could, he was just going to ignore her.

   He was probably just angry, she figured, so she had gone back to her room and waited and hoped he'd calm down. He might be more willing to listen then, maybe he'd let her prove to him that she was telling the truth. But she had waited over an hour and she could still hear the music reverberating through the wall.

   She had tried knocking one more time before deciding that she had to do something. This was all her fault, after all. She was responsible for him being this way.

   The manager was standing behind the counter as she entered the office.

   “Can I help you?” he said to her.

   “Guy in twelve's got his TV on too loud. He won't answer the door to me. Can you ask him to turn it down? It's bugging me,” she asked sheepishly.

   The manager sighed and rolled his eyes, as if he really couldn't be bothered with this right now.

   “It's only early,” he replied. “I can put you in a different room if you want. You asked for number eleven.”

   “All right, he's my friend and we had a fight and he's sick and I'm worried about him, okay? Please? I'm telling the truth. Check the register, his name's Tim Wright. I just wanna make sure he's okay.”

   “Okay, okay...” He held up a quieting hand to her and came out from behind the counter after grabbing a set of keys. He followed her out of the office and locked the door behind him.

   As they approached Tim's room, the muffled sound of the music became louder. The manager knocked on the door.

   “Mr Wright?” No answer. He waited a few moments before trying again, but there was still no answer.

   “Tim?!” Kayla tried, but with the same results.

   “I'm opening the door now!” The manager yelled before scrolling through his keys and inserting the correct one in the lock.

   The manager went in first and headed straight for the TV, turning it off. When the room went quiet, Kayla heard the sound of running water coming from the bathroom. She knocked on the bathroom door.

   “Tim? Are you okay in there?” She turned to look at the manager. “Tim, I'm coming in.”

   She opened the door and screamed, putting her hands over her face.

   “Shit,” the manager said, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket.

   Tim was lying on his side on the floor in a pool of blood, which was flowing from the three deep vertical gashes spanning the length of the inside of his left forearm. He held a knife in his right hand. His eyes were closed and his skin was almost as white as the tiles on the wall.

   Kayla quickly looked around the room before grabbing the towel that was hanging over the mirror and kneeling down in his blood beside him.

   “Oh, Tim!” she cried. “I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”

   She wrapped the towel tightly around his arm and held it in place, watching as the blood seeped through it and spread, quickly staining it red.

   And his blood was all over her hands.

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry/Entry #61  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YGupNlQ2eSY
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!


	13. Unreliable Narrators

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place the day after the events of Entry #51/the 56-42 tape between Tim and Sarah.

 

    

    

    

    _“He shouldn’t have come if he was sick.”_

    

 

_July 17 th 2006_

 

 

   Sarah was lying in bed. She had a headache and a slight cough. She guessed she must be coming down with some kind of summer cold. She hadn’t felt right since she had filmed that scene with Tim on the gazebo in the park, but it seemed to be getting worse. Maybe it was just something that was going around at college. It was probably why Alex had been acting like such a jerk lately. Not that she was making excuses for him. It was kind of demoralizing giving up your free time for someone who then went on to do nothing but criticize you. Their friendship had really suffered because of that stupid movie of his. At least she got to spend plenty of time with Tim though; he was the only reason she hadn’t told Alex to shove his dumb script up his ass and find someone else to play her role. And now she was sick on top of everything else. But she figured she just needed to take some painkillers and sweat it out, and had told her mom to quit fussing over her and go to work. She wasn’t a little girl anymore.

   She had been having some really weird dreams too, the kind of dreams that seemed real and made you feel disoriented when you woke up and realized that they weren’t. But they seemed so real. Like there really was something in her room with her, watching her. But she always had weird dreams when she was sick. It was nothing new, and she admonished herself for internally adding to the list of things to get stressed out about. Her priority was to get better. Once she got better, the nightmares would go away. So she had turned her cell phone off after her parents had left for the pharmacy and was just going to try to get some rest.

   Just as she closed her eyes, someone started banging loudly on the front door and ringing the doorbell.

   “Goddammit,” she said out loud.

   She thought about ignoring it, but the knocking continued, so she got out of bed and put on her purple bathrobe. She caught her reflection in her vanity table mirror as she passed it and grimaced at her red-ringed eyes and messy hair. As she was heading slowly downstairs, whoever it was banged on the door again.

   “All right, I’m coming!” Sarah yelled, massaging her forehead with her fingers. “Jeez...”

   When she opened the door, she found Tim leaning with one hand against the door frame and out of breath, like he’d been running. He was wearing his tan jacket zipped all the way up to the collar, which was strange seeing as it was a red hot summer’s day.

   “Tim?” she asked, squinting her eyes at the bright sunlight. “Are you okay?”

   “I’m looking for Brian. Have you seen him?” His words were frantic and rapid, and he stared wild-eyed at her, but Tim had always been a little weird – especially when it came to Brian – so she wasn’t overly concerned. That was what she liked about him, after all. He had changed a lot since they started shooting Alex’s movie though, and had become much different to how he was when she first met him, so his current behavior took her a little by surprise.

   “No, I haven’t. I’m sorry. I’ll see you later.”

   Expecting him to leave and not really wanting him to see her looking like the unflattering mess that she presently did, she started to close the door, but he put his hand against it, holding it open.

   “Wait, I need to talk to you, Sarah. Do you–”

   “Listen, can we do this inside? I feel like shit.” She turned around and led him into the living room, gesturing for him to sit as she flopped down on the couch. He sat next to her on the edge of the cushion, leaning forward and nervously jiggling one knee up and down, and she noticed that he was bleeding slightly from a small cut on the crown of his head.

   “Tim, what happened to your head?”

   “What?” he said distractedly, putting his fingers up to the wound and subsequently inspecting the blood on them before wiping it off onto his jeans. “I don’t know, I’m always hurting my head...It doesn’t matter. Do you have any idea where Brian could be? I’ve looked everywhere and I can’t find him, and he’s not answering his phone either.”

   “I know he went to that abandoned hospital place with Alex yesterday to shoot the movie. You know, the one you told him about for the school scene?”

   “But that’s impossible. I’m the only one who knows where it is.”

   “You took Alex up there on Saturday, then Seth went to meet you later. Don’t you remember?”

   “No.” He shook his head and frowned. “What day is it today?”

   “Monday.”

   “What?!”

   “You’ve hurt your head, you’ve probably just got a concussion or something and it’s messing around with your memory. You should really see a doctor about that.”

   He suddenly stood up and started pacing back and forth across the room.

   “Oh god...This is bad, this is really bad...Where’s Brian?”

   “Tim, just calm down!” she snapped at him, rubbing her head and coughing. As much as she liked Tim, she really didn’t need him freaking out about Brian in her living room right now. “Why are you so worried about him? He’s not a kid, he can take care of himself.”

   “But he’s not answering his _phone_ ,” he said, drawing the last word out. “He always answers his phone to me. Always.”

   “Maybe he’s gone to the movies or something. What are you, his dad?”

   “No, I’m his best friend.” He suddenly stood still and covered his face with his hands.

   “Do you want me to take you to the hospital to get checked out? You’re acting kinda crazy.”

   He removed his hands from his face and looked right at her.

   “I’m _not_ crazy.”

   “I never said you were crazy, I said you were acting crazy. There’s a difference.”

   “But you don’t understand, I need to find Brian! He might be in danger!”

   “Just stop it, Tim, you’re being ridiculous!” Sarah shouted before lowering her voice again. “He’s probably just out with Alex working on the movie.”

   “Have you seen Alex? Or Seth?”

   “No, I haven’t seen anyone since last week. I’ve been sick, not that any of you guys give a shit,” she said, not bothering to conceal the self-pity in her voice. “Alex called me yesterday morning to ask if I wanted to go out there with Brian and then yelled at me when I said no.”

   Tim went back over to the couch and sat down next to her, briefly putting his hand against her forehead and accidentally shoving her head back a little.

   “You’re sick? Sick how?”

   “I think it’s just a bit of a cold coming on. But my head’s killing me and I’m having some really messed up dreams.”

   “What kind of dreams?”

   “I don’t know, it’s just really creepy. There’s this guy in my room watching me, he’s wearing a black suit. But he’s really tall, like his head touches the ceiling.”

   Tim clamped his hand over his mouth and his eyes darted around the room.

   “It’s real!” he said softly, starting to breathe heavily in panic. “It’s fucking real! I knew it! They told me it wasn’t real!”

   Sarah just stared at him in confusion.

   “It’s okay, it’s just a dream,” she said, tentatively taking hold of his hand, which he immediately moved away.

   “It’s not a dream, it’s real!” He stood up again. “You don’t understand! This is all my fault! I gotta go back, I gotta go back there. It’s gonna leave him there.”

   “What are you talking about? Go back where? You’re not making any sense.”

   “Brian,” he replied, as if that explained everything, and then headed for the door.

   “Tim, wait...” Sarah got up from the couch and followed him, her head pounding. Even if he was creeping her out a little, he was still her friend and she couldn’t let him leave on his own in this state. She’d never forgive herself if anything happened to him. He meant a lot to her, probably more than she did to him.

   “What?” He turned back.

   “Why don’t you just sit back down for a minute and try to calm down, okay? I’ll get you some water. You don’t look very well,” she said tactfully.

   “Can’t. No time. It’s got him. I bet it got Alex and Seth too! That’s why he’s been acting all weird! That’s what it does, it gets inside your head! Shit! It’ll get you too!” He put his finger up to his lips for a moment and started to whisper, pushing his hair out of his eyes and gazing around at the ceiling. “I bet it’s here right now. Do you see it? Where is it? It follows me. It’s a _monster!_ ”

   “Are you high on something, Tim?” she said, less tactfully, frowning and wondering what the hell had gotten into him.

   “Goddammit, Sarah, I’m not crazy! They all thought I was, they kept telling me I was, but I’m not! You believe me, don’t you?”

   “Sure I do,” she lied. Now she really didn’t know what to do. If he wanted to leave, there wasn’t much she could do to stop him. Then she remembered him saying that his dad was a shrink. Maybe she could call him and tell him what was happening. “Where are your parents?”

   “What?”

   “Can you tell me which hospital they work at?”

   “No. They’re...They’re on vacation. Why are you asking me about that?” He looked at her suspiciously.

   “Well, your dad’s a doctor, I thought maybe he could help you.”

   “I don’t need a doctor! I’ve had enough of goddamn doctors! They obviously don’t know shit anyway, because That Thing is _real!_ I told you, I’m not crazy!” He went to sit back down on the couch, putting his head in his hands and muttering under his breath. “Ten years, ten _fucking_ years...”

   “I’m sorry,” she said softly, sitting back down next to him and not quite knowing what it was she was apologizing for.

   “Look, I gotta go. I gotta find Brian.” He started to get up and she grabbed his arm.

   “Wait a minute!” She decided to humor him, to see if that would get him to stay. “You said it was gonna get me too, right? Well, what about me? Aren’t you gonna protect me?”

   She could tell he was thinking about it, biting his lower lip and staring at the floor before raising his eyes back to her.

   “You could come with me!” he said, nodding enthusiastically. “We could take your car.”

   Sarah sighed. She really didn’t feel like going anywhere, especially not on a wild goose chase to babysit Tim who was clearly in the middle of some kind of psychotic breakdown, or bad trip, or whatever the hell was wrong with him. But she couldn’t just let him go. She’d just trick him, she was a good liar. Get him in the car and drive him to the nearest emergency room. Let someone else deal with him. He’d thank her for it eventually.

   “All right, wait here. I’m just gonna get dressed, okay?” When he didn’t respond she shook his shoulder and pointed to the floor, as if giving a command to a dog. “Tim, stay here.”

   He looked up at her and nodded. She went back up to her room and picked up her phone, turning it back on. She tried to call Alex. Straight to voicemail. Then Brian. It rang but he didn’t answer. Then Jay. Jay answered but said he hadn’t seen anyone since Friday. And finally Seth. Ringing but no answer. Well, that was kind of strange. Then she rolled her eyes and shook her head. She wasn’t about to let herself be drawn in by Tim’s paranoia. It was a Monday morning, they were probably all just busy.

   She quickly got dressed, pulling on a blue shirt, a pair of shorts and sneakers, and tied her hair back into a ponytail. She ran back downstairs and went into the living room, but Tim was no longer on the couch. Where was he? She had only been gone for about five minutes.

   “Tim? Where did you go?”

   Then she looked to the floor.

   “What the hell...?”

   He was lying on the floor with his eyes closed, lips slightly parted. She knelt down beside him and held her hand just above his mouth. He was still breathing. He just looked like he’d fallen asleep.

   “You’re really weird, you know that?” she said to him quietly, enjoying the sudden tranquility in the room.

   She decided to look through his pockets for his phone, intermittently looking up at his face to check he wasn’t about to wake up. She eventually found a pack of cigarettes, a lighter, a set of keys, a phone and a brown leather wallet. Scrolling through the short list of contacts in his phone, she was puzzled to find that the only ones she didn’t have herself were “Doctor” and “Work”. She copied the doctor’s number into her own phone before putting his back in his pocket and opening his wallet. Cash, credit cards, driver’s license, nothing out of the ordinary.

   Then Sarah noticed the small photograph tucked far down inside one of the card slots. She carefully plucked it out and examined it. It was of a woman, smiling and looking at the camera. It looked like the image of her had been cropped out of a larger picture, since the edge of someone else’s head was visible next to hers. She had blonde hair and was heavily made-up. Sarah guessed she was in her mid-twenties and was very attractive. She looked at the woman in the picture, feeling slightly envious that Tim was carrying her photo around with him. Sarah closed the wallet and returned it to his pocket, but kept hold of the photograph, eventually placing it face down on the arm of the couch.

   “Tim?” She returned to his side, lightly slapping his cheek a few times and shaking him. “Tim, wake up.”

   He slowly opened his eyes and just stared at her for a few seconds with a confused expression on his face.

   “Hey, are you okay?”

   “Sarah?” he said softly. “What happened? Where am I?”

   “In my house,” she said, frowning at him. “You fainted. Can I get you some water or something?”

   “Why am I here?” He sat up and rubbed his head.

   “Don’t you remember?” she asked him for the second time that day.

   “No.”

   Sarah was confused. Had he really forgotten everything from before? What was going on with him anyway? Still, at least this was taking her mind off how crappy she was feeling. And at least he wasn’t yelling like a lunatic about monsters anymore. Just don’t mention Brian, she reminded herself. She would always come second to him as far as Tim was concerned.

   “I don’t know,” she lied again, hoping his memory wouldn’t subsequently return. “You only just got here. You just said hi and then passed out. Guess you must have been missing me, huh?”

   “I’m sorry,” he said. “This is kinda embarrassing.”

   “Hey, don’t worry about it.” She put her arm around him and kissed him on the cheek, smiling as he turned to her. “We’re friends, right? You don’t need to be embarrassed in front of me.”

   She helped him up off the floor and he sat down on the couch. Sarah sat next to him and immediately picked up the photograph, her curiosity and envy taking precedence over her concern for him.

   “This yours?” She held out the photo to him. “Found it on the floor.”

   His eyes widened and he snatched it from her hand, blushing a little, which made her feel even more jealous.

   “Yeah, thanks.” He immediately put it away into his jacket pocket.

   “Didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” she said, feigning levity and staring at him intensely.

   He looked down at the floor and sighed.

   “She’s my mom.”

   “Really?” Sarah replied, raising her eyebrows. “Looks kinda young to be your mom.”

   “It’s an old photo. It’s the only one I have.”

   “I see. I’m sorry,” Sarah said, hiding her relief well and not bothering to question why the only photograph he had of his mother was probably around fifteen years old. “She’s really pretty.”

   “I know.”

   He rubbed his eyes before looking back to her.

   “Can you give me a ride home, please? I don’t feel so good.”

   “Why don’t you stay here with me for a while?” She moved closer to him and held his hand. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel better.”

   He looked at her nervously and smiled a little.

   “I’d like to, I really would, but I need to go home and take my medication. I don’t seem to have any with me.”

   Sarah suddenly felt a little guilty, realizing that she was taking advantage of the situation for her own ends and not really being a good friend. She should probably tell him what had happened. Well, some of it anyway.

   “Tim, can I ask you a question?” she suddenly said.

   He shrugged.

   “Do you do drugs?”

   “What?!"  Sarah had never seen him look so offended.  "No! What the hell kind of a question is that?! Do you?”

   “No, I’m only asking because the truth is that you were acting kinda strange before you collapsed.” She thought about how best to phrase it, but there wasn’t really a nice way to tell someone that they had been behaving like a total maniac only minutes before, so she just came out with it. “You were screaming about some tall monster in a suit following you around or something.”

   He frowned and leaned forward on the couch, pulling his hand away from hers.

   “What? I was? Really?”

   “Yeah. It freaked me out a little. What was all that about?”

   He started to gently trace his finger back and forth over his lower lip for a few seconds before laughing and rolling his eyes.

   “Oh, _that!_   Yeah, didn’t I tell you? I um...sleepwalk. Have done since I was a kid. My mom once found me in a park in the middle of the night. She used to have to lock me in my room and everything. Must have been dreaming, I guess. That’s what my pills are for. Guess I forgot to take ‘em.” He giggled. “Big tall monsters? That’s just...fucking...crazy, right? Hey, I’m sorry I scared you.” He shrugged and shook his head slightly. “Sucks, but what can you do? Will you take me home now, please?”

   “Sure,” Sarah smiled. “I’m sorry about your problem. That must be terrible for you. Thanks for feeling like you can be honest with me about these things though, Tim. That really means a lot to me, you know.”

   “Sure thing,” he said softly, averting his eyes from her. “And thanks for being so honest with me, I guess.”

   “No problem,” she said, taking hold of his hand again. “That’s what friends are for, right?”

    

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #20  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VKridtP5FQ
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


	14. Somebody Cares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kayla meets up with Sarah again and Tim gets a visitor.

 

    

    

    

    _“Well, I'm not dead yet so that's something, I guess.”_

    

    

 

_August 1 st 2014_

 

   Kayla sat in her car in the parking lot of Rosswood Park. She hated this place and wondered why Sarah had insisted on meeting her there again. Maybe she just liked being in control, seeing how far she could push people when she knew she had the upper hand. Or maybe she was just a sadist who liked making people return to places that were full of bad memories for them. That was what she had done to Tim, after all. No, that was what _they_ had done to Tim.

   At the thought of him, Kayla turned around and looked to the back seat where she had placed his duffel bag containing his belongings from the motel room a few hours ago. It wasn't even full. The manager had called her that morning and told her that Tim had been due to check out that day and that the room needed to be cleared, but he didn't mind if his car was left there.

   She had felt sick going back into that room again, closing her eyes as she passed the bathroom door on her way in and out. At least she hadn't had to spend too long in there though. It had only taken her five minutes to take all his clothes out of the drawers and place them in the bag. There was already a cell phone and a video camera in there, but they didn't seem like they'd been used for a long time; they had just been left forgotten in the bottom of the bag. The only other things of his that she found in the room were his laptop, wallet, cigarettes and keys. She had packed it all away and was out of there in ten minutes. After saying goodbye to the manager, she set off on the drive back to Rosswood.

   She had gone home the day after it happened. She had called the hospital every day to ask how he was though. They said he'd woken up on the second day but was refusing to speak and wouldn't be allowed any visitors for at least another week.

   So since it was only early afternoon and she had already completed a two-hundred-mile round trip from her house to the motel that day, she really wasn't in the mood for any of Sarah's shit. She was already fifteen minutes late. Kayla lit a cigarette and waited. It wasn't like there was much else she could do. She stared at the trees in the distance and thought about Lucie, about what could have been going through her mind when she did that. Thinking about what a mess she'd made of everything and what she'd caused Tim to do.

   About five minutes later, Sarah's van pulled into the parking lot. Sarah got out and walked over to Kayla's car, opening the passenger door and getting in.

   “Didn't think I'd be hearing from you again,” she said nonchalantly. “What do you want?”

   “Tim tried to kill himself.”

   “What, again? Third time's a charm, huh?”

   “Do you have to be such a bitch?”

   Sarah shrugged.

   “So, is he dead?”

   “No.”

   Sarah laughed a little.

   “Figures. Just out of curiosity, was it the real deal or just some cry-for-help bullshit?”

   Kayla looked at her furiously and ran her tongue over the front of her upper teeth, struggling to keep her composure.

   “Well, considering he locked himself in his room and was lying in a pool of his own blood, I'd say it was pretty real.”

   “How'd he do it?”

   “Sliced his arm open,” Kayla lowered her head and a tear leaked from her eye as she thought about the image of him lying there. “I found him on the bathroom floor.”

   “You found him? You should have just gone home when I told you to, then you'd never have known. Now you'll be stuck with him on your conscience and he's really not worth it.”

   “Why are you like this? Don't you care? Don't you even feel a little bit bad about it?”

   “No. And you don't even know what he's really capable of, so don't fucking lecture me.” She paused for a few moments. “If you want my advice, just forget you ever heard of him and get rid of those letters. Burn them. Just carry on with your life and stay away from him. Save your tears, okay? He doesn't deserve your guilt.”

   “But he's sick.”

   “So? Sick people can be assholes too, you know. Or am I just supposed to feel sorry for him and give him a free pass?”

   “A free pass for what?!” Kayla snapped. “Why do you hate him so much?”

   “You wouldn't believe me if I told you.”

   “Try me.”

   Sarah sighed and closed her eyes for a few moments before turning to Kayla and pointing her finger in her face as she spoke.

   “He's like a fucking plague rat. He spreads death and misery wherever he goes. And that was to _my_ house and _my_ college. And he did it to _me_ , _my_ family and _my_ friends.”

   “I'm sorry,” Kayla said after a few seconds of silence, still not really understanding what exactly it was he had done, but not wanting to pursue the subject further.

   “Don't be.” Sarah briefly rubbed her eyes and her voice softened. “We were good friends once, you know. I really liked him. There's a part of me that still does. But I can't forgive him, I just can't.”

   Kayla felt awkward. She hadn't heard Sarah speak like this before and didn't know how to react.

   “Maybe you should try. Might make you feel better.”

   Sarah suddenly looked directly at her and Kayla couldn't tell whether she had made her angry or not, considering her eyes were the only visible part of her face.

   “Can I go now?” Sarah suddenly said, her voice returning to its usual callous tone. “You could have told me this shit over the phone, or sent me an email instead of dragging me all the way out here.”

   “You wanted to meet here, I didn't.”

   “Whatever. Are you done?”

   “No.” Kayla hesitated for a moment. “Do you know what his pills are?”

   “Some type of anticonvulsant presumably.”

   “But do you know what they're called?”

   “No. They're not like any I've seen before. There's no markings on them and he takes the pharmacy label off. Why?”

   “Because the hospital don't know either, and he won't tell them.”

   Sarah shrugged.

   “That's his own stupid fault then, isn't it? Anything else?”

   “I'm gonna go see him in the hospital when he's better. I need to explain. I want to try to make it up to him.”

   “Do you really think that's a good idea?” Sarah asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Are you doing it for his benefit or yours? Hasn't it occurred to you that he probably never wants to see you again?”

   “Yeah, and whose fault is that exactly?”

   “Hey, nobody forced you to do anything. It's not like I was holding a gun to your head.”

   “All right, I know,” Kayla conceded. “But I want to show him the letters. It might make him remember something. Besides, I have all his stuff.”

   She jerked her thumb towards the bag on the back seat and Sarah briefly twisted around to look at it.

   “Maybe there's a reason he doesn't remember and you're just gonna make things worse by reminding him of it,” Sarah said carefully.

   “What does it matter to you anyway? Thought you didn't care.”

   “I don't. If you wanna go play nursemaid to him, that's your funeral. Don't say I didn't warn you.”

   Then Sarah got out of the car and slammed the door behind her. Kayla noticed her taking her cell phone out of her pocket as she walked back to her van.

    

******

 

   Tim was sitting up in bed staring at the TV which was standing on a table in the corner of his room. He silently answered the questions in his mind as the game show host read them out to the contestants. Tim was actually very intelligent, but that side of him always ended up getting buried beneath all the other crap, and he didn't articulate it well. He had always expressed himself better in writing rather than verbally. After all, he had gotten into college despite everything, but that hadn't exactly worked out for him either. But most people had always just assumed that he wasn't all that bright, or average at best. Tim was aware of that, but it had never really bothered him. And while he was definitely no glass-half-full kind of a guy, he had always been a little grateful for it. No pressure to achieve, no disapproval or shock from anyone when he eventually did drop out. No speeches about how he was wasting his life. Simply a shrug and a “Never mind, Timothy, at least you tried, huh?” It had only ever been a matter of how long he'd be able to stick it out anyway. That was the beauty of low expectations. Failure was always an option, if not a foregone conclusion.

   No, college was no place for someone like him. No fairy tale ending for him, no inspirational triumph-over-adversity bullshit like the plot of some corny made-for-TV movie. But he didn't feel sorry for himself. He knew what he was and he accepted it. He could lie so easily to others, but never to himself. And no matter how much he tried to reinvent himself, no matter how much he tried to fake it and paper over the cracks, he knew he would never be able to change what he ultimately and intrinsically was. He wasn't born to succeed. He wasn't born to be a productive member of society. He was born to be an inconvenience. To be an embarrassment to his mother. He was born to be a burden. To be cared for only by people who were paid to do it. That was the story of his life.

   Tim was a little bored, but he didn't mind. He was still too weak and in too much pain to do much of anything anyway. Besides, he liked this place. Everyone was being nice to him. Someone came into his room to ask him if he was all right every ten minutes. They did everything for him and gave him pills that made him not care all that much about anything. They even called him Timothy when they were trying to get him to talk, and that made him want to laugh. Because he knew why they were doing it. They wanted him to correct them and tell them that he didn't like being called Timothy anymore and to call him Tim. But he wasn't about to fall for that. He'd spent too much time in places like this for such a basic trick to fool him. He was no fucking amateur to this shit. They said they knew he could talk, that his friend Kayla had told them that he could, and they wouldn't be able to help him unless he did. He didn't want to though. He didn't want them to help him. He didn't want to get better. If he did, they'd tell him to leave. And then he'd be alone again. And nobody would care.

   This place wasn't anything like the ones he was in when he was a kid. The decor was more colorful and the nurses wore normal clothes instead of uniforms. He was wearing old fashioned brown striped pajamas which looked like they belonged to someone about forty years older than him and twice his size. The sleeves originally came down to below the tips of his fingers, but had since been rolled up to his elbows. He figured he probably looked pretty ridiculous, but vanity had never been among Tim's flaws.

   He also couldn't help noticing that most of the people taking care of him were more or less of his own age, some even younger than him. He would have found that kind of depressing under normal circumstances, serving as emphasis for how much of a goddamn loser he was. But not now. Now things like that didn't matter.

   They didn't lock him in his room either. But then again, he couldn't even get out of bed by himself, so there wasn't much chance of him running away, even if he wanted to. They had told him that this was due to a combination of heavy blood loss and the frequent seizures he was having because they didn't know what meds he normally took for them. But he couldn't really complain. He could open his mouth at any time and tell them the name of his pills, but he just couldn't be bothered. And at least the stuff he was taking was keeping his other self away. Not that he'd be able to do much if he did come through, unless he wanted to lie in bed all day watching game shows on TV too.

   Someone suddenly came into his room and told him that there was somebody here to see him. He was a little surprised, but he didn't show it, responding only by briefly glancing away from the TV before returning his eyes to the screen.

   “Good Lord, you look awful.”

   The familiar voice caused Tim to turn his head and he almost smiled before suddenly feeling deeply ashamed, lowering his head while still keeping his eyes fixed on the man he had known all his life, the one person who had never abandoned him or turned against him. His combed-back hair and small mustache were light brown in Tim's earliest memories of him, but were now gray. He had always been rather portly, the buttons on the short-sleeved shirts he wore constantly threatening to snap off from the strain around his stomach. He also had various faded tattoos on his forearms and Tim often wondered if he'd been in the military in his youth, but he'd never asked him about it.

   The old doctor closed the door behind him and shuffled slowly across the room. He sat down in the chair by Tim's bed, putting the three large shopping bags he was carrying down on the floor and looking at Tim with a mixture of sadness, disappointment and irritation.

   “How are you feeling?”

   Tim noticed his eyes briefly glance down towards his heavily-bandaged arm.

   _“It hurts,”_ Tim thought but didn't say. _“It hurts a lot. Everything hurts.”_

   “Aren't you even gonna talk to me after I came all this way to see you?” He smiled and winked conspiratorially at Tim. “I won't tell any of these guys, I promise.”

   Tim just smiled back at him and shook his head. He stood up and ruffled Tim's hair like he used to do when he was a little boy.

    _“I missed you.”_

   “You're a real pain in the ass, you know that, Timothy? Couldn't you have gotten yourself locked up someplace closer to home?”

   Tim laughed a little before looking away from him and fixing his eyes back on the TV, wiping away the tear that had started to roll down his cheek.

   “Why didn't you come to me, son?” he said gently, taking hold of Tim's right hand. “We go a long way back, you and me. You know I'm always there for you if you need me.”

    _“I know. I know and I'm sorry.”_

   “I would have come to see you sooner, but I only found out you were in here a few hours ago. A woman called the office and told me. She wouldn't leave her name.”

    _“Kayla. Her name's Kayla. Not Lucie. She's a liar too. Like me.”_

   He let go of Tim's hand and picked up the bags he had brought with him and put them on the bed.

   “Here you go. They said you came in with nothing, so I bought these for you.”

   Tim looked inside the bags, smiling at the stack of new clothes and books and various other things. Despite the circumstances, it was still nice getting presents.

   “I think they should fit you okay. Better than those pajamas anyway. Do you like them?”

   Tim nodded, even though he hadn't really looked at them properly.

    _“I don't deserve you. Thank you.”_

   “They said your seizures have been bad. I told them what medication to give you. Should improve in a few days, okay?”

   Tim nodded again, feeling relieved and even more ashamed of himself. All of this was self-inflicted, and it was like he was being rewarded for it, like a spoilt child who'd thrown a tantrum and been given his own way. He felt unworthy.

   “Listen, I'm gonna try and get you out of here in a couple of weeks.” The doctor stood up and put his arm around Tim's shoulders. “You should be well enough to leave by then. I want to take you home with me. You can stay at my place. I'll take care of you. What do you think?”

   Tim closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

   “Why not? Haven't you had enough of places like this?”

   “This is where I belong.”

   Tim's voice was quiet and croaky from lack of use, but the doctor jumped slightly in surprise and moved back from the bed as he spoke. Tim inwardly cursed himself for breaking his silence. He really couldn't do anything right.

   “So that's it? You're just gonna give up?”

   “You do know why I'm here, right?” Tim slightly raised his left arm before wincing at the pain and lowering it again, regretting the sarcasm in his tone. “I'm sorry. But it's better for everyone if I'm in here. I can't hurt anybody else and nobody can hurt me.”

   “Who hurt you?” the doctor asked urgently. “What did they do to you? Is that why you did it?”

   “It doesn't matter anymore.”

   “What? You mean like when you broke your leg? You never told me how that happened either.”

   “Because I didn't know.” Technically he was telling the truth. He didn't know at the time, but he didn't feel like talking about that now. “Things happen to me and I don't remember. That's why I'm better off here. It's safe here.”

   “Fine.” The doctor threw up his hands. “How long are you gonna stay, huh? Another ten years? Twenty? Till you're my age? Rest of your life?”

   Tim bit his lip and frowned.

   “Don't know.”

   “This is my fault. I should never have let your mother put you in that place. You were only a kid.”

   “No, I was an embarrassing little freak. Always have been, always will be.” Tim said flatly, raising his eyes to the older man. “Mom was right.”

   “Hey, don't you say that. I told you before, don't you pay any attention to a goddamn thing that woman said to you. She didn't know shit.” He leaned over and put his arms around Tim, holding him and Tim rested his forehead against his chest. “Won't you at least think about coming home with me?”

   Tim pushed the doctor away from him and sat back against the pillows.

   “No. I don't want to be a burden to you.”

   “But I'm your doctor.”

   “Yeah, you're my doctor, not my dad. You don't owe me anything. Why are you so good to me? I'm just a fucking loser.”

   “You're no loser, Timothy.” He held Tim's hand again and squeezed it. “Considering where you came from and everything you been through, you've done so well to be where you are now. Don't you understand that?”

   Tim laughed bitterly, looking down at the hand that was holding his.

   “What? Locked up in a mental hospital having seizures after a drunken suicide attempt in a motel room, you mean? Yeah, I'm a real fucking success story, huh? You must be so proud of me.”

   “Okay, so you're going through a rough patch. It happens to us all. You just kinda crash and burn harder than most though.” He put his fingers beneath Tim's chin and turned his face to his own. “But you're one tough son of a bitch, you know that? You're not weak, you never have been. No matter how bad it got, you always just kept getting back up and fighting. You've never let any of this shit beat you before and I'm not about to let you start now. We've both worked too hard for you to just quit. So stop wanting to hide yourself away, okay? Because you got nothing to be ashamed of. Nothing.”

   Tim just stared at him for a few seconds, wanting to believe the words being said to him, but as usual, he was his own worst enemy – in more ways than one – and his cynicism overpowered his hope. He started to slowly shake his head.

   “I know what you're doing. And I know why you're doing it. I am weak. If you need a doctor to tell you how tough you are, then you're probably weak. If you're so scared you'd rather be locked up in a mental hospital, then you're probably weak. If you feel you have to constantly lie about yourself so people won't laugh at you, then you're probably weak. I don't fight, I run away and I hide and I cry. That's how I survived. Like a cockroach. I'm no knight in shining armor, no noble hero. I'm just sick. I have seizures and hear voices. I sometimes hallucinate my dead friends and talk to 'em. People either make fun of me, feel sorry for me or hate me. Even my own mother. And I can't say I blame them. You're either wrong about me or you're lying to me.”

   “I've never lied to you, Timothy. I know you've lied to me plenty, but it don't matter. And I'm not wrong. I know you better than anyone. I can't help what other people think of you or what you think of yourself, but I meant every word, I promise.” He smiled. “I'll tell you something else too. I know I'm not your dad, but I wish I was. I'd be proud to have you for a son.”

   Tim looked away and frowned. Nobody had ever said anything like that to him before and he blushed, in a mixture of shame and guilt. He felt stupid. And grateful. And loved.

   “You really do care, don't you?” Tim said quietly.

   “I always have.” The doctor leaned over and kissed Tim on the forehead. “You know that.”

    _“Yes, I do,”_   Tim thought, looking at his doctor who had taken a bottle of water out of one of the shopping bags and was holding it out to Tim.

   “Can't open it,” Tim said apologetically, raising his injured arm again. “I'm sorry.”

   “Don't worry about it,” the other man muttered, unscrewing the cap and putting the bottle down on the bedside cabinet. “Here.”

   “Don't suppose you brought me any cigarettes, did you?”

   “What kind of half-assed doctor do you take me for, boy? Of course I did.”

   Tim laughed.

   “Thank you.” He took hold of his doctor's arm and leant his head against it, closing his eyes and smiling. “Thank you for everything.”

    

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #58  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wb8BXDWVwYc
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoy the chapter!


	15. A Little Bit Of History Repeating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim learns something new about his past.

 

    

    

    

  _“Bringing back old memories like it couldn't possibly have any effect on anybody else.”_

    

    

    

_August 9 th 2014_

 

   It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining but it wasn't too hot; there was even a slight breeze. The garden was really pretty. Well, it was more of a courtyard than a garden – surrounded by the building on all sides – it was still pretty though. There was a large rectangular patch of grass, intersected and bordered by a white concrete path. There were even some flowers and bushes. Tim had spent most of the day out there, sitting at the wooden picnic table. Sometimes smoking, sometimes reading, sometimes just resting his head on the table and falling asleep.

   His arm was feeling better. He could pick things up with his left hand now anyway. It still hurt, but not as bad. He'd somehow managed to not do any permanent damage to it, except for three more future scars to add to his collection. He'd probably have fun trying to make up an excuse for those at some point. From what he'd seen of it when they'd changed his bandage, it looked like he'd been attacked by some clawed animal. That was probably what he'd opt for in the end. Bear? No, too dramatic. Raccoon? Possible. Wolf or coyote maybe? Whatever. He could decide on that later.

   He felt better in himself too. But that was what happened when you hit rock bottom. Only one direction to go. Tim was no stranger to the feeling of wanting to die, but of his previous two suicide attempts, he could only remember one. In his old hospital after That Thing had got him in the tunnel. Sitting there crying in his old room. Hallucinating that he was a kid again. Screaming for someone to let him out, that it was _right there_. Pouring his whole bottle of pills out into his hand and swallowing them all at once. Trying to smash down the wall that was calling him a liar before eventually losing consciousness.

   He remembered that he had started to improve after that too. He became almost normal for a while after he confessed the truth to Jay about his childhood. That was when he and Jay had to go on the run. That was when Jay started to get sick, and Tim became the dominant one, the capable one, the responsible one. The strong one. The one making the decisions. Jay actually needed him. And as guilty as it had made Tim feel, he got a kind of kick out of it. It was a novelty. For once, he wasn't the one who was sick, he wasn't the one who needed to be taken care of, he wasn't the one who needed to be worried about, he wasn't the one writhing around helplessly on the ground. He was the one doing the watching and the helping and the protecting.

   He hadn't even minded when Jay didn't appreciate it, when he woke up and found out that Tim had been giving him his pills without his knowledge. But being someone who had been told all his life that his problems would be solved if he would just be a good boy and take his medicine, he couldn't understand why Jay had gotten so mad at him about it, especially when it seemed to have worked. Jay took the pills, Jay got better. It was as simple as that. All he had wanted to do was help.

   But that had been the start of the chain of events that led to Jay's demise. If Tim hadn't shared his pills with Jay, he wouldn't have prematurely depleted his supply. Then they wouldn't have had to go back to Tim's house to get more. Then Jay wouldn't have found out that Tim was hiding the tape of his other self taking Jessica from the hotel room. Then Jay wouldn't have stopped trusting Tim. Then they wouldn't have fought and parted ways. Then Jay wouldn't have gone to Benedict Hall alone. That was what it came down to ultimately. A friendship and a life mercilessly snuffed out by Tim's dependency on pills and a badly concealed tape in his jeans pocket.

   Alex might have been the one who pulled the trigger, but Jay's death was Tim's fault in the end. Just like everything else was. All roads led back to him. Because he was sick and weak.

   Brian was dead. Jay was dead. Alex was dead. Seth was dead. Sarah was alive, but considering what she had become, he figured whatever had happened to her must have been pretty fucking bad. People didn't change that much without good reason.

   Yet there he was, being looked after by nice people in a nice place, wearing brand new clothes, his doctor visiting him every few days, fussing over him and trying unsuccessfully to teach him how to play poker. He almost felt happy. Sure, it might not be most people's idea of happiness, but most people weren't like him.

   The ability to forgive had always come rather easily to Tim. His mother's photograph was still in his wallet after all those years, and he liked to think that she carried an old picture of him around with her too, that she still thought about him sometimes and wondered how he was doing. But he knew deep down that she probably didn't. But he didn't blame her. It was his fault that she hadn't loved him, after all. If he hadn't been born the way he was, then she would never have put him in the hospital. Then That Thing wouldn't have found him. Then nobody would be gone. He would always find a way of laying the blame for any event squarely on his own shoulders.

   And no matter how unfairly he'd been treated, or how much he'd been screwed over, or how badly he'd been hurt, he only ever bore a grudge for as long as his initial anger remained present to sustain it. He didn't really know if that was a good thing or not, as he had rarely been afforded the same generosity of mercy by others, but that was just the way he was. Bitter, but not vengeful. It probably stemmed from the fact that the causes of most of his problems – That Thing, his illnesses, his other self – were things that he couldn't physically strike back at, that he couldn't hurt, so as soon as his anger subsided, resentful acceptance had become his default way of dealing with injustice and he had conditioned himself to apply that rule to people too. Life wasn't fair. Shit happened. Especially to him. It would probably turn out to be his fault one way or another anyway. He was just resigned to it, albeit grudgingly.

   He suddenly heard the door open and hoped it wasn't someone who was going to tell him to go back inside, because he didn't want to. So he quickly lit a cigarette and hoped whoever it was would just leave him alone, picking up the paperback book that was on the table and pretending to read it for good measure. But it was okay, it was just someone telling him that his friend was here to see him.

   Wait. What friend?

   He put the book back down on the table and turned his head towards the door. He traced his eyes up from the ground. Red sneakers, long legs, short blue skirt, red backpack, yellow low-cut blouse, lot of makeup, blonde hair. Goddammit.

   “You just don't know when to quit, do you?” Tim said casually, running his hand through his hair and looking away from her as she walked towards the table waving at him.

   “Tim,” she said, smiling and sitting next to him. “I'm so happy to see you again.”

   “I wish I could say the feeling was mutual,” he muttered. “But it's not.”

   “Please don't be like this. I've been so worried about you.”

   “Don't care.”

   “I came all this way to see how you were. I brought you your bag from the motel and everything. And after all the horrible things you said to me too...”

   “Which you fucking deserved. I wouldn't even be here in the first place if it wasn't for you. Probably.” He paused and looked at her sullenly. “I'm still kinda pissed at you.”

   “How's your arm?” she asked gently.

   “Better,” he replied, briefly wrinkling his nose up and shaking his head. “Looks worse than it is. Doesn't hurt as much now.”

   They sat in awkward silence for a while, which was broken only by the sound of Kayla idly tapping her fingernails on the table and Tim kicking the soles of his boots together.

   “Like your T-shirt,” she suddenly said, nodding towards the fluorescent blue and red tie-dyed top he was wearing.

   “Do you? I don't. My doctor bought me a load of new shit, he's kinda old. But I don't want him to think I'm an ungrateful dick, so...” He shrugged. “Anyway, beggars can't be choosers, right?”

   “Guess not.”

   “Do you really always dress like that?”

   “Yeah,” she replied defensively, looking down at her own clothing. “What's wrong with it?”

   “Wasn't complaining.” He stubbed his cigarette out in the plastic ashtray on the table, sighing impatiently. “Let's cut the bullshit, okay? You didn't come all the way out here to inquire about my health and comment on my clothes. So what do you want, Kayla?”

   “I want to show you something.” She smiled and opened her bag, taking out a large brown envelope and putting it on the table. She put her bag down and started looking through the envelope. “Just wait there a second.”

   “I don't know if you've noticed, but this is a mental hospital. Trust me, I'm not going anywhere.”

   Kayla just rolled her eyes at him and took out two photographs from the envelope. She passed the first one to Tim and placed the second one face down on the table.

   “That's me and that's Lucie.” She pointed to each of the girls in the photo. “My dad took that in our house on her last birthday. I'm sixteen there.”

   He sighed and looked at the image of the girls smiling at the camera. Kayla hadn't really changed all that much. Her hair was very long then and she wasn't wearing as much makeup, but it was obvious that it was her. She had her arm around Lucie, who was smaller but looked similar – blonde hair and pretty – but wore glasses and wasn't smiling quite as much as Kayla. Her hair was straight, parted slightly to the side and tied back.

   He turned it over and read the neatly handwritten words on the back.

    

**Kayla and Lucie**  
**December 3 rd 2001**

 

   “She did that with all her photos,” Kayla stated simply.

   He turned it back over and looked at it some more. Finally putting a face to the name was strange after everything that had happened, and he felt a little sad, knowing that she had died within a year of that photo being taken. She was just a kid.

   “Do you recognize her?” Kayla asked him after a short while.

   “No, I don't.” He shook his head and gave the photo back to her. “For what it's worth, I'm sorry about Lucie, okay? I really am. But like I told you, I didn't know her. I can't help you. I've never seen her before in my life.”

   “Maybe this is a better one. This is Lucie again.” Kayla took a deep breath, picked up the other photo and handed it to him. “And that's you, right?”

   He moved the photo closer to his face and frowned, his eyes switching back and forth between it and Kayla a few times. The familiar light green walls of his old hospital formed the background of the picture. From one of the larger windows visible in the corner, he concluded that the photo had been taken in one of the communal areas. And there was his own adolescent face smiling back at him. His hair was much shorter then and he was wearing white hospital-issue pajamas. Next to him with her arm around him and head resting on his shoulder was Lucie, also smiling. He picked up the other photo and looked at both, comparing the faces. It was definitely the same girl. He turned the photo over.

    

**Timothy and Lucie**  
**April 6 th 2002**

 

   “I don't understand,” he said softly, feeling very confused. “I don't remember her. This was taken in the hospital, but it said she wasn't a patient in a news article I read.”

   “She wasn't,” Kayla said. “She was your friend. She used to go visit you. She must have thought a lot of you to do something like that by herself. She was really shy, she never usually went anywhere she didn't have to without me or Dad. You were quite fond of her too.”

   “Did she talk to you about me?”

   “No. We didn't even know about you till after she died. You were her little secret.”

   “How do you know then?” Tim asked suspiciously, holding up the photo of him and Lucie. “Surely you can't have derived all that from a single photograph. Maybe she was bored one day and wanted to go see a freak show, huh? Maybe she got dared to sneak into the local loony bin and this was the proof to show her friends. Maybe she was just making fun of me. Maybe that's what you're doing now.”

   He put the photo back down on the table.

   “Think what you like about me, Tim. I won't defend myself. I know I haven't exactly given you reason to trust me.” She smiled at him and held his hand. “But Lucie wasn't like that, I swear. She was a sweet girl.”

   “But I only got your word for that, don't I?” He pulled his hand away from hers. “And, as you quite rightly point out, I don't trust you. How do I know what she was really like?”

   Kayla reached back into the envelope and brought out an approximately two-inch-thick bundle of smaller envelopes held together with a blue ribbon tied in a bow.

   “Well, you seemed to like her well enough to send her these. Check the handwriting.”

   She held them out to him, but he wouldn't take them from her. Instead he just stared as if he was afraid of them.

   “What are they?”

   “They're letters you wrote to Lucie when you were in the hospital. You were fourteen when you sent the first one. They all have dates on. I put them in order for you.”

   “You've read them?!” Tim gasped in a horrified voice, not realizing what a stupid question it was.

   “Of course I have. I've had them for twelve years. Don't you want to?”

   “No.”

   “Why not?”

   “I know it might not seem like it given my current situation, but I've kinda changed a lot since then. I don't really want to be reminded of what I was like before. It's embarrassing.”

   “They're not embarrassing, they're nice.”

   Tim laughed and rolled his eyes.

   “Yeah, I'm sure the ramblings of a teenage mental patient are lovely. Did I write her bad poems about feeling like a bird trapped in a cage or some shit like that? Did I call her my soulmate? Did I tell her that I wasn't really crazy, I was just misunderstood?” He smirked at her and shook his head. “Goddammit, Kayla, how old are you?”

   “There's no need to be snarky,” she said tetchily. “Why don't you just read a couple of them?”

   “Because I don't want to. It's not particularly a part of my life that I like thinking about, don't you get that? I don't mean any disrespect to your sister, but the less I know about that time, the better. I'm glad I don't remember.”

   “Listen, Tim, I understand what it must have been like for you...”

   “No, you really don't. If you did, you couldn't have watched me drink that bottle of coke and still been able to look me in the face after. Justify it to yourself all you like, that was a real shitty thing to do. If I'd done it to you, I'd be sitting in a fucking jail cell right about now.”

   “I know and I'm not justifying it.” Kayla pointed vaguely to somewhere inside the building. “Call the cops, have me arrested. I'll confess.”

   “What's the point? Revenge? Justice?” He shrugged and shook his head. “Just words. It's not gonna change what happened. It can't be undone. Anyway, I'm not the kind of person who gets off on all this eye-for-an-eye crap because I'm usually the one on the receiving end of it.”

   “I am sorry, Tim. You know I mean it, right?” She pouted slightly and lowered her eyes. “I've been feeling so bad about it.”

   “Well, cry me a fucking river.” He ran his hand over his face and sighed. “Whatever, there's no point in going over this again.”

   Tim looked away from her and glanced back to the photo of his younger self and he couldn't help feeling a little conflicted and curious, even though it went against his better judgment. He thought wryly about how Jay would have immediately snatched the letters out of her hand and already started the process of fervently poring over them had he been there. But then look where chasing down memories of old friends had gotten him.

   “How did I even meet her anyway?” Tim suddenly asked after a few seconds. “I was locked up from the age of eight, I didn't exactly have a great social life.”

   “I remember her telling me about this program she joined at school where they volunteered to write to kids who were in hospitals who wanted penpals. They kind of paired them up, you know what I mean?” Kayla shrugged. “Well, I guess she got you.”

   “Lucky her,” he muttered quietly.

   “You must have put your name down for it at some point. Do you really not remember, Tim?”

   “No,” he replied irritably. “That really doesn't sound like something I'd do, not even back then.”

   “Well somebody did.” Kayla tapped the bundle of letters with her finger before putting them down on the table. “Anyway, she never mentioned it again and I just forgot about it until I found those in her room after she died. I mean, when she said she'd be writing to a kid in a hospital, I just assumed she meant someone who had cancer or who'd been in a bad accident or something, not...” she trailed off.

   “Not what?” he asked innocently, keeping a straight face while enjoying watching her grasp for an elusive euphemism. “A psycho?”

   “Someone like you,” she eventually settled on. “I kinda hoped that you'd still have the letters she wrote to you – or remember them at least – but clearly you don't. Why don't you just read them? What have you got to lose?”

   Tim sighed. He stared at the letters on the table. If there was one thing he had learned from his experiences over the last eight years, it was that ignorance is usually bliss. What you don't know can't hurt you. But this was different. This seemed like it was something nice that had happened to him. But Lucie was dead. It wasn't like there could ever be any kind of reunion. It wasn't a case of having something to lose, but rather of having nothing to gain. If he read those letters and started to remember her, he would simply be bringing back memories of a friendship that no longer existed and never could again. He had already lost her. She would just be another dead friend, like Jay and Brian.

   But there must be more to it than that. Tim was pretty accustomed to bouts of amnesia and lost time, and while he wasn't really fazed by it anymore, there was something that didn't make sense about this. He wouldn't have been able to keep their friendship a secret like Lucie did, especially since she actually went to the hospital. And someone had to have mailed those letters for him. His doctor must have known. Everyone who worked there must have known. So why hadn't anyone mentioned her to him at the time? He figured there was only way to find out.

   “All right,” he finally said. “I'll read them. But not now, when I'm by myself. Can I keep them for a little bit? And the photos?”

   “Sure,” Kayla replied, putting the bundle of letters and photos back in the large envelope and pushing it along the table towards him. “They were yours to start with anyway.”

   “Thanks. When do you want them back for? I'm probably gonna be here for about another week or two, then I'm going to stay with my doctor for a while.” He lit two cigarettes and gave one to Kayla, who smiled as she accepted it. “Thanks for calling him for me, by the way. I was kind of a mess without my pills. I don't really have anyone else apart from him.”

   “What?” she frowned. “I didn't call your doctor. I don't even know who he is.”

   “Well, who did then? He said it was a woman. You were the only one who called this place and asked about me, can't think of anyone else who'd give a shit.”

   “I did tell Sarah,” Kayla said quietly after a few moments. “But I don't think she'd...”

   “Oh, yeah, what the hell does she have to do with all this? Why didn't you just come talk to me about Lucie in the first place like you did today?”

   “Sarah was the one who told me where you were. She said she knew you. She told me you'd lie to me. And you did, to be fair.”

   “Maybe I did. But wouldn't you have lied if you were me? Being asked those questions by somebody you're trying to impress, somebody you like.”

   She smiled and narrowed her eyes a little.

   “So you do like me, huh?”

   “Shut up.” He smiled a little too but tried to conceal it. “Anyway, everything I told you after the diner was true.”

   “No, it wasn't. You lied about something else but I'm not sure why.”

   “What?”

   “Your age. You wrote your date of birth in the first letter. You're twenty-seven.”

   Tim raised his eyebrows.

   “Oh yeah. Shit.” He laughed a little. “I've been on my own for a while. Guess I stopped counting after Jay died.”

   “Who's Jay?”

   “Just an old buddy of mine.” He smiled nostalgically as he thought of him. “We didn't always get along but he was a good guy. You remind me of him a little actually.”

   “Really?” she said excitedly. “How?”

   “Well not physically, obviously. He was a persistent pain in the ass too.”

   She laughed and he watched her for a few moments as she smoked, and he was suddenly reminded of first meeting her in the motel parking lot, of how she made him feel, of how she looked at him while he lit her cigarette, of how beautiful he thought she was.

   “Kayla?”

   “Yeah?”

   “Thanks for saving my life.”

   She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

   “Don't thank me. It was the least I could do, right? Just glad we got to you in time, thought you weren't gonna make it.” She paused before adding quietly, “You were so pale.”

   “Yeah, I fucked myself up pretty good, couldn't hardly move for about a week,” he said. “They told me what you did anyway. Thanks.”

   “What else was I gonna do, leave you there?” She smiled a little, eyes lowered. “I might do stupid things sometimes, but I'm not a monster.”

   “I know you're not.” Tim stubbed out his cigarette and held out his hand to her. “No hard feelings, all right?”

   “Thank you.” She shook his hand. “I'm sorry you ended up back in one of these places because of me. It must really suck.”

   “It's not so bad,” he shrugged. “Anyway, I did ten years last time, couple of weeks is nothing.”

   “You're a nice guy, you know that? You don't deserve this shit. I can see why Lucie liked you so much.”

   “Can I ask you something about her?”

   She nodded.

   “She wasn't like my girlfriend or anything, was she? Because that'd just be really weird. Weirder than it already is. Especially after you and me...you know.”

   “I don't think so. From what I can tell from the letters, it seems like you were just friends.”

   He breathed a small sigh of relief.

   “Okay, I'll read them tonight.”

   “There's something else I should probably warn you about. After that photo was taken, she stopped going to visit you. I don't know why. You still kept writing to each other though.” Kayla looked down at her hands for a few moments, as if unsure of whether or not to continue. “I know why you ran away from the hospital the night she died.”

   “Don't tell me,” he said suddenly. “I want to find out for myself. I want to read it in my own words.”

    

    

    

    

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #59:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLbp-1NjZsM
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	16. Unintended Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim reads the letters.

 

 

 

 

    _“Listen, there's some things we need to talk about...”_

 

_August 9 th 2014_

 

   Tim sat cross-legged on his bed and looked at the pile of envelopes. He unfastened the ribbon binding them together and hesitated. He wondered if he should wait for his doctor to come visit him before reading them. He needed to ask him what he knew about Lucie and why he had never discussed her with him before. He had always been brutally honest with Tim in the past, never shying away from telling him things he knew he wouldn't want to hear, things that made him sad and angry and frustrated. He remembered being told at the age of nine that no, his mom was never going to come back to take him home; at the age of thirteen that yes, he probably was going to have seizures for the rest of his life; at the age of seventeen that yes, he was going to have to start learning how to take care of himself because he would have to leave the hospital soon. These statements were usually suffixed by the phrase “that's just the way it is, Timothy, and you're gonna have to get used to it”, or some variety thereof.

   So why had he deemed it necessary to keep this from him? Maybe he couldn't trust him as much as he thought he could. Maybe he was tricking him. But to what end? There had only ever been one beneficiary in their relationship and that had been Tim. After all, he had never paid him a cent. He had even refused to take money from him when he started working at the warehouse. But if he had kept him in the dark about this, there could be other things he didn't know about.

   So Tim made a decision. He would find out all he could about Lucie before talking to his doctor, then he would be as prepared as possible to catch out any lies he was told. So he picked up the first envelope and took the piece of lined writing paper out of it.

 

 

April 9, 2001

Dear Lucie,

Thank you for your letter.

Your family sound really nice. I'm sorry your mom is dead.

I don't know what else to write so I'll just answer your questions.

I am 14 years old.

I was born March 28, 1987.

I have black hair and brown eyes.

My mom is called Janet. I don't have any brothers or sisters.

My favorite color is red.

Nice to meet you too.

Timothy Wright.

 

 

_“Well, that was helpful,”_   thought Tim sarcastically, putting the letter back in the envelope and taking out the next one. 

 

 

 

April 13, 2001 

Dear Lucie,

I didn't really expect you to write back so fast, but thanks.

I'm OK, thanks. How are you?

You asked me about school. The people here teach me stuff sometimes and give me books to read, but it's not the same, I guess. My doctor's trying to arrange it so I can go to a normal school and come back here at night, but I don't think that's ever going to happen.

Do you like school? What's it like? I haven't been for a long time. Are the teachers nice to you? Do you have a lot of friends? What's your favorite class?

Your house is only a few miles from where I used to live, I think. The street name sounds familiar anyway, I'm sure I've heard it before. I probably walked down it once.

Have you ever been to Rosswood Park?

Timothy.

 

   Tim wished he had her letters to read too. This was a little frustrating, like listening to someone talking on the phone and not being able to hear the person on the other end of the line. He wondered if this was how Jay had felt when he first started going through Alex's tapes. But these letters were all he had to go on, so he just moved on to the next one.

 

 

 

  April 26, 2001 

Dear Lucie,

I'm sorry I didn't write back for a long time, I haven't been feeling very well. 

You play guitar? That's really cool. I always thought about learning. I might ask my doctor if I can have one.

About friends. As long as you're happy, it doesn't really matter how many friends you have. Some people just like being alone, I guess. I don't really understand it, but whatever. And you seem like a really nice person, so I'm sure you could make lots of friends if you wanted to.

OK, I'll answer your questions. I knew you were going to ask me sooner or later and I don't mind, so don't feel bad or anything.

No, I don't get any visitors. My doctor comes to see me a lot, but I don't know if he really counts as a visitor.

I've lived here since December 20, 1995.

I'm schizophrenic. I see and hear things that aren't there. It's a little scary sometimes, but I got lots of nice people around me so I'm pretty lucky, I guess.

I understand if I don't get any more letters from you, but thanks for the ones you did send to me.

Timothy.

 

   “For fuck's sake, kid, you're writing a letter!” he admonished the handwriting of his younger self. “Why didn't you just make some shit up? It's not like she was gonna check. It's no wonder they kept you in there for so long. Goddammit...” The idea that he might have actually wanted to be honest with her never even crossed his mind.

   Then he remembered that Kayla had read these too and put his hands over his face and groaned. This was exactly why he hadn't wanted to read them. He reluctantly picked up the next letter, expecting it to be two pages of him begging Lucie to start writing to him again. But it wasn't.

 

 

May 5, 2001

Dear Lucie,

Thank you so much for coming to see me today. It was a really nice surprise. It was so cool to meet you in person and see what you look like. I used to wear glasses too when I was little, but I don't need them anymore. Did you get home okay?

I had a great time talking to you, I don't get to see many people my own age. You're really smart, you know a lot of stuff. It was really interesting. I'll definitely read the book you brought for me.

I thought you might be scared of me when I told you what was wrong with me and that you wouldn't like me anymore. So thank you.

I'm looking forward to seeing you again.

Thank you again.

From your friend Timothy.

 

   “Needy little bastard, weren't you?” Tim muttered to himself.

   He couldn't help wondering why she had done it. He obviously hadn't expected her to show up there, so she mustn't have discussed it with him beforehand. They had only exchanged around eight letters between them at that point, so it was unlikely they had developed any kind of special bond. Maybe she just felt sorry for him. Maybe she just wanted somebody to talk to and liked the thought of a grateful and captive audience. Maybe she was having similar problems to him but was better at hiding it than he was and just wanted to get closer to him for the sake of comfort. But trying to analyze the motivation of someone he couldn't even remember was a fool's errand at best, so he just continued reading.

   The subsequent letters followed pretty much the same pattern. She went to visit him once every week and he would write to her after she had left. He would tell her how nice it had been to see her, thank her for whatever it was she'd brought for him on that respective occasion – which included things like candy, a teddy bear, mixtapes, a friendship bracelet, a guitar pick, et cetera – state how grateful he was to her, that he was looking forward to seeing her next time and thank her again. This made sense, as they were regularly seeing each other in person by then and likely did most of their talking face to face. So why was he bothering to write to her at all at that point? He figured he was probably just too shy to say certain things directly to her.

   Tim did discover something he didn't know in the letter he wrote to her just after his fifteenth birthday though.

 

 

April 2, 2002

Lucie, 

I showed my doctor what you bought me for my birthday. He said it was really good quality and looked expensive. So I asked him to look after it and give it back to me when they let me out of here.

Then I promise I'll take it everywhere with me and it'll make me think of you every time I buy something.

See you on Saturday.

Timothy.

 

   Tim smiled. He had mostly kept that promise without even knowing that he had made it. He got up and walked over to the table where his duffel bag had been placed next to the TV. He opened it and took out the brown leather wallet that his doctor had given him on his eighteenth birthday, telling him that he was passing it on for someone else.

   “Thanks for my birthday present, Lucie,” Tim said, staring at the wallet and smiling as if he had never seen it before. He was starting to enjoy reading the letters a little now, despite still cringing every so often at something embarrassing he had written over a decade ago.

   Then he remembered that Kayla had told him that Lucie stopped going to the hospital after the photo. Strangely, there was no letter for the date the photo was taken. He read the next one. That was when things changed. The letter itself wasn't dated, but the postmark on the envelope read April 14th 2002. 

 

 

Lucie, why didn't you come see me today? Are you mad at me? Did I do something wrong? Did I upset you? I'm sorry. I saw my doctor talking to you before you left last week. What did he say to you? Was it about me? Did it make you not like me anymore? You can tell me. I'm your friend. You're still my friend, right? You're going to come back next week, aren't you? Please come back or write me back.

Timothy

I'm sorry

 

   Tim frowned, suddenly feeling a little shocked and confused by his own overreaction. Why had her missing a single visit caused him to respond that way? Then he remembered that he had been in the hospital for over six years at that point. His whole life was based around routine, and when it was broken without explanation, it scared him. And he was just a kid, after all.

   He warily picked up the next letter, hoping it wasn't more of the same.

 

 

April 23, 2002

Lucie,

Thanks for writing back. I'm sorry about my last letter, I wish I'd never sent it now. I feel a little stupid.

I'm sorry you're not feeling well. You're not feeling sad again, are you? If you're sad again, you can talk to me. You don't have to hide it from me. You know I won't tell anyone. You know you can trust me. You said I made you feel better when you talked to me last time.

Anyway, don't bother writing back until you feel better. Or you want to, whatever. Just take care of yourself.

I'll leave you alone now until I hear from you again.

Thanks for the photo.

Get well soon.

Your friend, Timothy.

 

   Then he noticed that there was only one letter left. The date on the postmark was May 7th 2002\. Four days before the fire. Four days before she died.

 

 

Lucie,

Don't worry about lying to me. I'm not mad at you, I swear. I understand. I'm just glad you're OK. I missed you too.

I got an idea. I know how to get out.

Do you want to want to meet up and talk? We could go for a walk or just hang out for a while or something. I can't stay out for long, I might get away with it for a few hours though.

You know the old chimney with the tree growing out of it in Rosswood Park?

Wait for me there on Saturday night at around seven. I should be able to make it for that time but I might be a little late. Bring a flashlight.

See you there.

Timothy.

 

   So Sarah was right. It was his fault after all.

   “Fuck my life,” he said aloud to himself.

 

******

 

_August 10 th 2014_

 

   “Can I ask you a favor?” Tim said, biting his thumbnail, as his doctor sat opposite him at the table in the garden, shuffling the deck of playing cards.

   “Sure.”

   “Can you get me out sooner? Like tomorrow? Or the day after or something?”

   The doctor sucked in air through his teeth and shook his head. “I don't know about that.”

   “But I'm better now,” Tim argued petulantly, lips pouted and nostrils flared. “I feel fine. And I haven't had a seizure for three days. Ask them if you don't believe me.”

   “What's with the big rush all of a sudden?”

   “Well, it's like you said: I'm fucking sick of these places. I want out.”

   “Did something happen? Did somebody upset you?”

   “No,” Tim replied. “I mean, what's the big deal anyway? I'm not a kid, you don't gotta find me a place to stay or nothing. I got money. I can take care of myself.”

   “It's not as simple as that.”

   “Why not?!” he yelled. “When I wanted to stay here, you wanted to get me out. Now I wanna get out, you wanna keep me in. Can't you make your goddamn mind up?”

   “Keep your voice down!” the doctor hissed after slamming his hand on the table and making Tim jump. “It isn't up to me. What the hell's gotten into you anyway? You keep on acting like this and they'll keep you in here longer. You know how this shit works.”

   “Fuck, I'm sorry...” Tim rubbed his eyes before lighting a cigarette. “I'm really sorry.”

   “It's okay.” The older man shrugged and continued shuffling the cards. “Ain't the first time you've yelled at me. Probably won't be the last either. What's the matter, huh? Have they changed your meds or something? You weren't like this the last time I was here.”

   Tim decided to just ask him about Lucie directly, there was no point in dancing around the issue. He really didn't like the thought of being lied to by someone he respected and trusted so much, but he was at least in possession of sufficient self-awareness to acknowledge his own hypocrisy in this matter.

   “Have you ever heard of a girl called Lucie Carmel?”

   The doctor's hands became motionless for a second and he looked up and frowned.

   “Yeah.” He started to deal the cards. “Local girl. Took her own life. Poor kid. I remember reading about it in the newspaper at the time. A goddamn shame. Do...you remember that too?”

   “Nope,” Tim replied, shaking his head.

   “Why are you asking about her then?” The doctor picked up his own cards and spread them out.

   Tim didn't answer and just stared down at the hand his doctor had dealt him.

   “You want me to go over the rules again?”

   “Is that all?” Tim said. “Is that all you know about her?”

   “All right, what's going on here?” He threw the fan of cards down onto the table. “Who put that name back in your head, Timothy?”

   Tim reached down, picking up the large envelope which he had been hiding beneath the table and handing it over.

   “Look in there.”

   He watched as his doctor brought out the photograph of himself and Lucie.

   “Shit.” The doctor put his hand to his forehead. “Where'd you get all this?”

   “Doesn't matter. Why'd you lie to me?”

   “I didn't lie, I just didn't tell you the truth. There is a difference.” The doctor picked up Tim's pack of cigarettes and lit one up, coughing slightly.

   Tim raised his eyebrows and smiled a little.

   “Secrets and lies, right?”

   “If you like,” he shrugged. “I was trying to protect you.”

   “From what? Will you tell me the truth now? Please?”

   “I took that photo. With her camera. She must have got two copies done because she sent one to you. You kept it in your room.” The doctor pulled a handful of letters from the envelopes. “I mailed these for you too. I signed you up for the whole letter-writing thing in the first place. You didn't even wanna do it at first. But it was when I was trying to get you into a school and I thought it'd be good for you. Which turned out to be a waste of goddamn time because none of 'em would take you. Anyway, you ended up enjoying it and I was pleased for you. But then she started showing up at the hospital. Every Saturday. You'd just sit there and talk to each other. Sometimes she taught you to play chords on that guitar I bought you.”

   “What was she like?”

   “Just a really nice girl. Polite, kind-hearted. Do you think I'd have let her anywhere near you if she hadn't been? She was very quiet though, but then so were you. There were times I wished I'd never started it all off in the first place.”

   “Why? I mean, if she was a nice person and I was happy and all, what was the problem?”

   “Well, there wasn't one at first. It was nice to see you open up to someone like that and you started doing a lot better. But you got kinda attached to her and then she stopped showing up all of a sudden. And nobody knew why. Needless to say, you didn't take it very well.”

   “Was it after that?” He pointed to the photograph.

   “Yeah. First you accused me of turning her against you because you saw me talking to her. I was only offering to give her a ride back into town. Then you started screaming that we were keeping her away from you. And then about a week later you got a letter from her, and everything seemed to be okay again.” He shrugged and shook his head. “But you were fifteen, hormones flying all over the place. A teenage boy getting aggressive and having mood swings isn't exactly unheard of, so I didn't really think anything else of it at the time. Besides, it wasn't like you didn't have previous for that kind of stuff.”

   “I don't understand. How is you keeping all this from me protecting me?”

   The doctor sighed and started to stroke his moustache with his thumb.

   “I found out about her death while I was waiting for you to wake up the day after the fire. This cop who was a friend of mine told me. She was reported missing the previous night and found in the park in the early hours. All I could think of was how I was gonna break it to you and how you were gonna react. I mean, there you were having almost bled to death from a slashed wrist, and I was gonna have to tell you that your only friend was dead.” He shrugged and shook his head again. “So you can see my problem.”

   “Did you think I killed her?”

   “No, don’t be stupid. Of course I didn’t. Nobody did. Why would you? You thought the world of that girl. It was an open-and-shut suicide anyway.” The older man stared down at the table and Tim noticed his eyes start to moisten. “Then when you did wake up, you wouldn’t talk, so we put off telling you. You never said a word for about three months.”

   “Yeah, I know. I remember what you did to me to make me start,” Tim said bitterly.

   “Hey, you know I wasn’t happy about that. I tried to talk them out of it, but it was out of my hands. Your shrink at the hospital made that call and it was his decision in the end.”

   “I know. I’m sorry.”

   “Anyway, a lot of time had passed and you started getting better. We tried dropping her name into conversations in front of you, but you didn't react at all. I hate to say it, but we were all kinda relieved that you didn't remember her. So we agreed to just not mention her to you unless you asked, and you never did. It was like she never existed. There was nothing to remind you of her. Different hospital, different surroundings. Your guitar, the letters she wrote you, the gifts she brought you, they all went up in flames in your old room.”

   “Except my wallet, right?”

   “Yeah, she got you that for your birthday. I wasn't sure whether to give it to you or not, but three years had passed by then. I figured you were strong enough to handle it even if you did start to remember. Besides, I promised you that I'd return it when you got released.”

   “I thought it was from Mom.”

   He scoffed.

   “Yeah, sure. She never got you nothing for your birthday, not even when you fucking lived with her.” The doctor frowned and stroked his own chin, in the way that all doctors seemed to do when they were curious about something. “So, do you remember anything at all?”

   “No.” He shook his head. “Her name means nothing to me. Her face means nothing to me. Those letters might as well have been written by someone else. There's nothing there. Just blank.”

   “Have you tried to remember?”

   “After reading the letters, I don't really know if I want to.”

   “Maybe you should give it a try. You might get some nice memories back, huh?”

   “But I know how it ended, don't I?” Tim said, avoiding his doctor's gaze. “I know it all turned to shit, just like everything else I fucking touch.”

   “Surely you can't be blaming yourself. She obviously had some problems of her own that she didn't tell anyone about. And it's not like she was isolated. She had a family, one that loved her. You were just a kid. Even if you hadn't been stuck in that place, what could you have done? It wasn't your fault.”

   “Yeah, it was. She wouldn't even have gone to Rosswood that night in the first place if it hadn't been for me. I arranged to meet her there, that's why I escaped.”

   “Okay, so maybe she wouldn't have done it then and there. But that doesn't mean it would never have happened.”

   “I guess,” Tim conceded.

   The doctor stubbed out his cigarette before reaching under the table and bringing out a box of sandwiches. He opened it up and offered one to Tim, who shook his head in response.

   “Oh well, more for me,” he said with his mouth full, after taking a bite out of one. “You know, if you want my advice, I think you should try to be a little more positive about this.”

   “She killed herself!” Tim yelled before lowering his voice again. “She killed herself. What positives am I supposed to take from that?”

   “There's your problem,” the doctor replied, punctuating his point to Tim with the corner of his sandwich. “You just keep focusing on how she died, like that's all there was to her. That's kinda disrespectful, don't you think?”

   “I don't mean it to be.”

   “I know. It's just human nature. You're not a bad person for thinking that way. But you wanna know how I'd approach the situation if I were you?”

   Tim nodded.

   “I'd feel happy that I once had a friend who liked me so much that she thought it was worth spending her Saturday afternoons sitting in a psych ward day room just so she could be with me.”

   “Well, it is where all the cool kids hang out, right?” Tim said, smiling a little.

   “Damn right.”

   Tim watched amusedly as his doctor finished off his sandwich and proceeded to sweep the crumbs from his shirt onto the ground before taking a can of soda out of his bag and putting it down onto the increasingly cluttered table. He had always somehow managed to make any place he was in for more than a few minutes much more untidy than when he arrived.

   “You do understand why I never told you about her though, don't you?” The doctor lay his hand on Tim's arm and smiled a little sadly. “I just wanted you to be okay is all. I was just doing what I thought was best. I don't know if it was the right thing to do or not, but I had good intentions.”

   “I know.”

   “And stop blaming yourself for her dying. I remember her, you don't. She cared a lot about you. She wouldn't want you to think about her and feel bad. She was your friend, she'd want you to be happy. Understand?”

   Tim nodded.

   “Are you feeling better now? You're not gonna bust out of here after I leave, are you?”

   “No,” Tim laughed. “Anyhow, I don't think I'd get very far if I did. I don't even know where the hell I am. But I am feeling better. Thanks.”

   “Attaboy, Timothy.” The doctor reached across the table and tapped the playing cards which lay in front of Tim. “Right then. Game on.”

   “Can I ask another favor?”

   “What?”

   “Can you please call me Tim?”

   The doctor picked up his cards and spread them out again.

   “No,” he eventually replied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #65:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4OgLL1N9sNI
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	17. The Rules Of The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This follows on from the 56-42 tape, from Alex's viewpoint.

 

    

    

    

   _“Brian has excellent taste in art.”_

    

_July 20 th 2006_

 

   Alex stared at the timer on his cell phone, fresh tape poised over the video camera. He had to record everything. He just knew that that was what he had to do. No camera, no protection. Sometimes it didn't let him see it, but it couldn't hide from a camera lens. It could fuck up the audio with obnoxious distortion and make the video tear and jump, but it couldn't hide from it. He didn't even know if it did it deliberately or if it was just something that happened to the tapes when it was around. Something about electromagnetism? Alex didn't know. Even though he was smart and a good student, his passion had always tended more towards the artistic side of film-making rather than the technical, the latter being something that Seth would know more about. If he were still here, that is.

   So he had to keep the camera recording at all times, then he could watch the tapes back and know that it had been there even though he couldn't see it. It seemed to almost like him a little now that he had given in to it. But he didn't know exactly why he had. Yes, it had scared him. A lot. But that wasn't the only reason, he was sure of it. Its power had appealed to him, spoken to something that was inherent in him – his love of control maybe? He had been awed by its ability to wield influence like a weapon, even though he himself was a victim of it. Awed and envious. He had admired it and wished he could emulate it. But now he feared it even more and just wanted it to go away. He didn't want it to start hurting him again.

   Alex had originally started filming all the time because he had thought he was going crazy. Ever since he first saw it near the red tower and nobody else seemed to be able to. He remembered walking over to it, thinking it was just an unusually tall man in a suit. He laughed at the thought that he was going to ask it to move because it was ruining his shot. Brian had been there that day. So had Sarah. So had Seth. So had Tim. But they didn't see it. He didn't actually remember anything after the tape cut out. He wondered how close he had gotten to it and what it had thought of him.

   Because that mattered to Alex now. Did it think he was a fool? Just some stupid kid making a movie with his friends? He hoped not. He knew he had changed since it all started. Or rather, that it had changed him. While he had always taken himself very seriously, he used to be a nice guy. He was a little acerbic and self-absorbed, perhaps, but deep down he had always tried to be a good person. He had always tried to make his mom proud of him. People used to like him and he liked other people. But he didn't care about them anymore. Neither the ones who remained nor the ones who were gone. They weren't important. They were disposable. They were merely tools he could use to try to rid himself of it, or at least to divert its attention from himself for a while. Bait. That was the word he was unconsciously trying to suppress. They were just bait now.

   He tried not to think about Amy. Out of sight, out of mind, he kept telling himself. But he loved her and missed her, and that made it hard for him to not think about her. But if he thought about her too much, it would know. Then it might want him do to her what he had done to Seth and Brian and Tim. Then what would he do? But she was far away. She was safe for now.

   Even though he was watching the timer counting down, Alex still flinched as his cell phone suddenly emitted the shrill, persistent beeping sound. He pressed the button to disable it before changing the tape in the camera with rapid, practiced movements and resetting the timer. He breathed a sigh of relief, sliding his fingers beneath the lenses of his glasses and rubbing his eyes.

   He picked up the tape he had just removed from the camera and walked back to his bag, which was on the floor leaning against the beige striped sofa. He dropped the tape inside the bag and sat down. He let his eyes drift across to the gun on the cushion next to him. He didn't even know why he had it. It wasn’t like he could shoot That Thing in the face. Well, he could, but he doubted that a bullet could take it down. It just made him feel safer knowing that the gun was there. He had never really liked them in the past, but he felt he had to have one now. And he didn’t even know why. But then, he didn't know why he was sitting there in Brian's house either. Could that be a tiny twinge of guilt he was feeling?

   Probably not. He certainly hadn't felt any guilt when he was leading Brian down those hallways in the old hospital, listening to him talk about how worried he was about getting into trouble for being there and pleading with Alex for them to leave; hadn't felt any guilt when he was rifling through Brian's pockets while he was unconscious and stealing his keys; hadn't felt any guilt when he was taking Seth around that pitch dark basement full of antiquated machinery that would never be used again; hadn't felt any guilt when he hit Tim over the head with that steel pipe while his back was turned. He felt vindication and achievement. When That Thing had come to take them away, he knew he was getting it right. It was like solving a puzzle in a video game and progressing to the next level, only much more important.

   There was something about that old hospital that it liked. Alex had felt it as soon as Tim had taken him there. He had felt exhilaration and relief. He had found the answer. What was the point of feeling guilty anyway? It didn't change anything. The deeds were done. Brian was gone. Seth was gone. Tim was gone. Jay and Sarah were the only ones left. And he was sure That Thing was grateful to him, he was sure that it approved. It must approve, because it didn't hurt him anymore, so he must be doing the right thing.

   After all, running and hiding hadn't worked. Scribbling dumb pictures and hanging them on the wall to try to ward it off hadn't worked. That just seemed to exacerbate things. But he had figured it out now. It all made sense now. It must have been _Marble Hornets_ that started it all off. Which he was in control of. That was his baby. Making the movie must have angered it somehow and invoked it, drawn it to him. If the movie was the problem, then it must be the solution too. Therefore, he had to try to make it so it was like the movie never existed in the first place. He had to try to eradicate everything and everyone associated with the movie. That was how he would beat it. Then once that was done, he could leave this place and go be with Amy.

   Alex looked around at the white walls and suddenly noticed the painting of the forest in flames hanging on the wall. He and Jay had joked about it. About what a weird picture it was. For some reason, Alex started to wonder why Brian had such a painting in his house. He could imagine Sarah having something like that – he knew she had a dark side – but it didn't seem to fit with Brian's personality. Alex had always thought that Brian was a pretty superficial guy, but in a good way. What you saw was what you got. There was no hidden agenda with him. He was open, honest and friendly. Happy-go-lucky and kind to a fault. He was the kind of person you could trust. With your life even. Alex had always imagined him becoming a firefighter or a paramedic, some job where he got to help people and be a hero. Yes, that would have suited Brian down to the ground. But all that was something of a moot point now.

   Alex breathed deeply and closed his eyes. He was pretty sure it was there now. He could feel it. His head was hurting a little, but he didn't know if it meant to do that or if that was just another inadvertent glitch that it caused. Unless he really was losing his shit, of course. Well, he'd know for certain when he watched the footage back later when he eventually returned home. Whenever that would be. As soon as he ran out of tapes probably.

   There was suddenly a knock on the door.

   “Brian?” called the voice coming from the other side of the door, accompanied by more knocking. “Brian, it's me. It’s Tim. I saw the lights were on. Are you home? Did you come back?”

   What the fuck? What the fuck was he doing here? He was supposed to be gone. Alex panicked. He didn't understand. Why had it kept Brian and Seth and given back Tim? Or maybe it hadn’t kept any of them. Shit. Maybe he didn't have this figured out as well as he thought he did. Maybe he was doing something wrong. Well, he'd just have to re-evaluate his strategy later. Right now he had to decide what to do about Brian's little groupie who was knocking incessantly at the door. And Alex couldn’t remember if he’d locked it behind him or not. If Tim walked in and found him here, he'd fucking kill him. Particularly after what had transpired between them at the hospital. Alex might have the height advantage, but he didn't really fancy his chances one-on-one against a pissed off Tim who hadn't been hit in the head first, especially not in a confined space. But he didn't sound angry. On the contrary, he sounded pretty happy. But that was probably because he thought Brian was here.

   “Are you in there, Brian? Can I come in?” There was urgency in his voice, but he sounded more excited than anxious.

   Then Alex felt stupid for being scared in the first place. God, he could be such a dumbass sometimes. Obviously if Tim thought Brian was alive and well at home, it meant that he didn't remember what had transpired at the hospital. Had it wiped his memory or something? Could it do that? Had it done it to protect Alex from Tim? But then why let him go in the first place? Whatever, he could think about that later. His priority for now was to take control of this situation fast.

   Alex stood up and picked up the gun. He tucked it between the waistband of his jeans and the small of his back, pulling down the rear of his T-shirt to conceal it. The metal felt cold against his skin, but reassuring at the same time. He walked out of the living room and turned right down the short hallway that led to the front door. He took a deep breath and opened it.

   “Tim!” Alex said happily, plastering a fake smile across his face while noticing the genuine one on Tim's dissipate at the sight of him.

   “Alex?” Tim frowned at him and coughed. “Hi. What are you doing here? Where's Brian? Are we gonna shoot some scenes for the movie here again? Nobody told me about it.”

   An involuntary flicker of confusion and wariness flashed across Alex’s face and he just stared at Tim for few seconds without speaking.

   “Are you okay, Alex? Why are you looking at me like that? Are you gonna let me in?”

   Alex almost laughed before regaining his composure. He couldn't believe his luck. But what if his memory came back? If Tim ever remembered what had happened to Brian, he would never let it go. It could ruin all his plans. He might never get to see Amy again. He couldn't take the risk. He had to get rid of him. Dispensing with him inside the house would be the best way. Then it would look like Brian had killed him and gone on the run.

   “I'm just great, Tim. How are you?” Alex opened the door and flattened himself against the wall, making room for Tim to squeeze past him in the narrow hallway. There was no way he was going to turn his back to him. There was a chance he was faking it, giving him a false sense of security, waiting for him to let his guard down before jumping him and kicking the crap out of him. Alex figured that Tim was probably too stupid to do something like that, but he wasn’t about to risk his life based on his own impromptu assessment of a guy he didn’t really know all that well.

   “I'm fine, thanks. Is Brian in the bathroom or something?”

   Alex ignored the question and continued to follow Tim into the living room. He leaned back against the wall as Tim sat on the couch and looked down at him coldly. While he didn't exactly hate Tim, he was slightly contemptuous of him. If there was one thing Alex was good at, it was sensing weakness and insecurity. And Tim reeked of both. Alex had noticed it the first time he met him at the audition. He was so submissive and meek. He hadn’t even wanted to audition, doing so only because Brian nagged him into it. And that seemed to be what he was like all the time, even though he was a little more subtle about it now. Brian said, “Jump” and Tim said, “How high?” His attitude to Brian almost bordered on veneration. Alex couldn’t understand people like that. Especially not now. What was the point of life if you just rolled over and let someone else take control of it? That wasn’t living. That was like being someone’s pet.

   Alex did feel slightly jealous of Brian though. He thought about what it would be like to have someone like Tim in his own life. Someone who was utterly devoted to him, someone he could dominate and boss around. Someone he could treat like shit and who'd still keep running back for more. And therein lay the difference between Alex and Brian. Alex would absolutely abuse the fuck out of that situation, while it would never even enter Brian's mind to do so. Yeah, having a friend like Tim probably would be pretty cool. That wasn't to say that he had any qualms about putting a bullet in his head though.

   “Are you sure you’re all right, Tim? You don’t seem like your usual cheerful self tonight.”

   “Where's Brian?”

   “Oh, he just had to go somewhere real quick. He's um...doing a favor for Jay. You know Brian, always the little boy scout, right?” Alex laughed, taking satisfaction from the wounded expression developing on Tim's face. “Don't worry, he'll be back soon.”

   “I've been looking for him. I haven't seen him for...” Tim bit his lip and frowned for a few moments. “...a while. Did he lose his phone? He hasn’t been answering my calls and I think the battery's dead now.”

   “Not to my knowledge.”

   “Oh.”

   Alex watched as Tim’s eyes drifted to the left of Alex’s head.

   “He hung my picture back up,” Tim said, smiling a little.

   “You painted that?” Alex frowned, cocking his head in the direction of the painting.

   “No, I gave it to him.”

   “Why?” Alex didn’t bother to hide his distaste.

   “I'm his best friend. He said he liked it so I let him have it.”

   “But why choose that in the first place?”

   “I bought it after I left– ” He paused for a moment and licked his lips. “Before I started college. I like the colors. It reminds me of home.”

   “Your home was in a burning forest?”

   “No.” The sarcasm seemed to have gone over Tim’s head. “A big house in the middle of the woods.”

   “You old money or something?” Alex raised his eyebrows. Despite what little he knew of Tim, he never got the impression that he was a rich kid. Quite the opposite, actually. But he was only asking because he wanted to know how much interest there would be in his upcoming disappearance and murder, not because he cared.

   “No. Doctor’s son.”

   “Oh, I see. That how you know about that old hospital?”

   Fuck. Why the fuck had he mentioned that? That was the last thing he wanted him to think about.

   _“You stupid fuck, Alex,”_   he thought to himself. _“Think you’re so smart? You’re not smart, you’re fucking stupid.”_

   Fortunately for Alex, he had an excellent poker face, and managed to keep his expression passive apart from a quick glance to the floor.

   “Yeah. You still wanna go film there? It’s been a while since I told you about it.”

   “Yeah, I do. Sorry, I’ve had other things on my mind recently. We’ll have to arrange something.”

   This conversation was really weird. He was discussing future plans to do something that had already been done with someone who didn’t remember doing it. It was slightly surreal.

   Alex suddenly noticed Tim staring towards the corner of the room and shrinking back on the couch. Alex looked too and saw nothing. Was it here? Was it letting Tim see it and not him? For some reason, that made him feel a little jealous.

   “You okay? What are you looking at?”

   “Nothing.” Tim blinked a few times before turning his attention back to Alex. He reached into his pocket and brought out a bottle of pills. It looked like an almost instinctive reaction. “Thought I saw a bug.”

   “What do you take those for?”

   “I’d rather not say, if you don’t mind.”

   “Come on, you can tell me. I thought we were friends.”

   “Allergies,” Tim said after a few moments.

   Alex didn’t believe him. People who had allergies weren’t usually reluctant to talk about it. But he wasn’t really all that interested, so he just let it pass.

   “You want me to get you some water?”

   “Yeah, okay,” Tim replied. “Thanks.”

   Alex went into the kitchen. He put his right arm behind his back, hand ready to grab the gun. He planned to just walk back into the living room and shoot Tim in the head. He’d be dead before he even heard the shot. Job done. For some reason, at that moment a sudden sharp agonizing pain surged through his head, almost bringing him to his knees. He massaged his temples with his fingers until the pain subsided.

   Now feeling rather nauseous, Alex went for the gun again, but the same thing happened, only worse. He cursed under his breath. That was definitely no coincidence. It must be That Thing. It was hurting him. Hurting him bad. If it was hurting him, then that meant that he was doing something wrong. He was breaking the rules. That was how this worked. Trial and error. Pain and pleasure. Punishment and reward. It was sending him a message. It didn’t want him to kill Tim. So it hadn’t wiped Tim’s memory to protect Alex after all, but to protect Tim. But why? It wasn’t fair. Tim didn’t even know that it existed. It was Alex who was doing all the hard work, trying to figure this thing out and do what it wanted. It was Alex who was trying to play its game and decipher its rules as he went along. What was so special about Tim that it had released him and deemed it necessary to keep him alive? Ironically, the thought that it might be protecting Tim only served to make Alex want to blow his brains out even more than he had before.

   So he could hurt Tim, but not kill him. Well, this was annoying. Physical violence was pointless if it had to be non-fatal. Alex might be a cold-hearted son of a bitch, but he was no sadist. He’d have to think of another way to get rid of him. He’d have to be smart. He’d make him want to leave and never come back. Make him want to run back home to his mommy and daddy. Emotional manipulation was the answer. Attack his weaknesses. Get inside his head. Alex was good at that. Having a somewhat dark sense of humor, he usually did that kind of stuff in jest to get a rise out of people, but he was pretty sure he could make it work for real too. The motive didn’t affect the method. But he didn’t know that much about him. He had to think what he could use against him. What was important to Tim? Brian. Then he knew what to do. He knew how to break him. He knew how to take control. He smiled.

   Alex heard Tim coughing in the next room and paused for a few moments, planning out what he was going to say to him. He took a glass from the cabinet and filled it with water. Then he walked back into the living room and handed it to Tim, who nodded in thanks. He sat down next to him on the couch.

   “What are you allergic to?” Alex asked casually as Tim was in the middle of taking one of his pills.

   Tim coughed and swallowed the water slowly, looking down at the undulating liquid in the glass.

   “What?”

   “You said they were for allergies, so I’m just curious what it is you’re allergic to. My mom takes pills for allergies too. Maybe they’re the same ones.”

   Tim hurriedly put the bottle away in his pocket and remained silent.

   “It’s okay, I know you’re lying. I know what they’re really for.” Alex paused before continuing, hoping his cold reading skills would pay off and that Tim wouldn’t call his bluff. “Brian told me.”

   “What? But he promised.”

   Alex breathed a sigh of relief.

   “Well, that’s Brian for you. He’s a nice guy and all, but you don’t wanna go trusting him with your secrets. He can’t keep his goddamn mouth shut about anything. We all know; me, Sarah, Seth, Jay. It’s probably all over college by now.” Alex twisted around in his seat and clamped his hand down on Tim’s shoulder, a look of pure sincerity on his face. “For what it’s worth, Tim, I think you’re very, _very_ brave.”

   Tim shook his head slowly.

   “No... He promised. It can’t be true.”

   “I’m afraid it is. He told us not to say anything to you because you were so embarrassed about it. But I felt you had a right to know what he was saying about you.”

   Tim suddenly stood up and Alex resisted the urge to smile.

   “Where is he? I need to see him. I need to talk to him. I’m not mad, I’m just kinda surprised is all. When’s he coming back?”

   He looked devastated. This was so easy. Alex could do this shit all day long. Time to twist the knife.

   “I think you’d better sit back down, Tim, I need to talk to you about something.” Alex patted the freshly vacated cushion beside him and Tim sat down again.

   “What?”

   “You see, I have a small confession to make. I haven’t been entirely honest with you. Brian’s gone. He isn’t coming back. He went back to his parents’ house. He’s quit college, changed his cell phone number, everything. He asked me to break it to you. That’s why I’m here now.”

   “But why?”

   Alex hesitated and took a deep breath, as if doing this was a difficult task for him.

   “Because of you, Tim. He said you were weirding him out with the way you wanted to be with him all the time. He said it was like having some crazy stalker. I guess he just couldn’t handle it anymore. He said you can be a little…intense sometimes.” Alex shrugged and smiled sadly. “He never wants to see you again.”

   Alex noticed as Tim’s lip started wobbling and his eyes started filling up with tears. Oh, fuck. He wasn’t going to cry, was he? How old was he, like six?

   “But I didn’t mean to upset him. That’s the last thing I’d ever want to do. I’m his best friend, why didn’t he talk to me about it?”

   “I don’t know. Probably didn’t want to hurt your feelings, I guess.”

   “Wait a minute,” Tim suddenly said. “Why should I believe you, Alex? How do I know you’re not making all this up?”

   “Where is he then, huh? Why am I here?” Alex reached into his pocket and pulled out Brian’s keys, dangling them in front of Tim’s face. “Why do I have these? Why won’t he take your calls? Anyway, why would I make it up? What do I care? Think I’m trying to split you guys up and make Brian my best friend? Are we still in elementary school or something?”

   Tim didn’t answer and just scowled back at Alex’s questioning face.

   “Look, I’m pissed about it too. He’s the lead in _Marble Hornets_. I don’t know how the fuck I’m gonna finish it now.”

   “I’ll talk to him. I’ll tell him I’m sorry. I’ll tell him I’ll change. Do you know where his parents live?”

   “No.” Alex rolled his eyes and continued in an even more patronizing tone than before. “Anyway, that’s a really bad idea. You showing up there out of the blue like that’ll just confirm his worst fears about you.”

   “Fears?”

   “Yeah. That you’re some crazy, obsessive weirdo.”

   “But I’m not! I just need to see him is all. Like _right now_.” Then he put his hands over his face and started crying. “I miss him.”

   God, this was pathetic. But Alex couldn’t really complain. This was what he had set out to do, right? He just wished Tim wasn’t so fucking whiny about it. He had expected rage rather than despair. He was prepared for some yelling, an angry storming out of the house and slamming of doors, maybe even a few thrown punches. But not this. This was just awkward.

   “There, there,” Alex said dispassionately, patting Tim lightly on the back. He briefly thought about what a bizarre situation this was, seeing as he had been planning to shoot Tim in the head only minutes before.

   “What am I gonna do, Alex? I don’t wanna be by myself again!”

   “Believe me, Tim, you definitely got someone watching your back,” Alex replied in a slightly bitter tone.

   “What?”

   “Nothing.”

   The tiny shred of humanity that remained of his old self managed to fight its way through to the surface, and his conscience suddenly caught up with him. Despite the fact that Tim appeared to have gotten off more lightly than the others, having the consequences of his actions sitting next to him and not spirited away to wherever it was that That Thing took them to made it more real and less abstract. It brought home what he had become. He was just as much of a monster as That Thing. He wondered what his mom and Amy would think of him if they were here now. Was he really the same decent young man that his mom had raised him to be? Was he really that same bright and enthusiastic guy that Amy had fallen in love with? Would he be able to look either of them in the face the next time he saw them, after everything he had done and was planning to do? Maybe he should change tack, after all. Maybe there was another way?

   But he was doing all this _for_ Amy. So he could be with her. So they could be happy together. So he could be free. It was about priorities, and he figured that giving the others up to That Thing and breaking Tim’s heart was a price worth paying for all that. And as if to convey a sign of affirmation, it suddenly appeared to him in the corner.

   Alex turned to Tim. This was the way things were now. Either they suffered or Alex did. There was no contest. He had to see this through to the end.

   “Just go home,” Alex said gently. “Go see your family or something. Give Brian some space for a while, okay? He’s probably just a little stressed out right now and needs some time to himself.”

   Tim nodded and stood up. He walked silently out of the room, pausing for a moment to look at the painting on the wall.

   “Tim?”

   He turned back to Alex.

   “I’m sorry I had to be the one to tell you about Brian. I didn’t have a choice.”

   “Yeah, I know how that feels.”

   Then he walked down the hallway and out the door, and Alex heard him close it behind him.

   Alex looked up at That Thing in the corner of the room.

   “Did I win?” he asked it, a mirthless laugh escaping from his throat as he grabbed the gun and put it down on the cushion where Tim had been sitting.

   He stood up and walked back over to the camera, pausing the recording.

   He turned back to That Thing defiantly.

   “Sarah next,” he said coldly.

   And it disappeared.

    

*****

 

_July 22 nd 2006_

 

   Brian was cold. He was cold and he was afraid, shivering due to a combination of the two. It was the middle of summer, right? Why was it so cold? He couldn’t see anything. It was so dark there, he couldn’t even see his own hand in front of his face. Wherever there was. Because he didn’t know. He could feel a light wind blowing and hear the rustling of leaves, so he figured he was in the woods somewhere.

   But he was inside a building. He was sitting on a cold hard floor leaning against a cold hard wall. Had he been abducted? Was he being held against his will? He didn’t know. He couldn’t remember. He wanted to get up, to try to find a way out of this place, but he was too weak. So he decided that the best thing he could do was stay put and wait for it to get light. Because it had to get light sooner or later, right? It wasn’t going to be dark forever, right?

   He didn’t think he was injured. He could move just fine, but it was like all the energy had been drained out of him. Not to mention the excruciating agony in his head. It hurt so bad.

   “Hello?” he called out tentatively, his voice echoing in the darkness. Wherever he was, it was big. He tried to think. He put his hand in his pocket and found his cell phone. He tried to switch it on, but nothing happened. “Fuck...”

   He suddenly started to cough and he couldn’t stop. It made the pain in his head worse and made him feel sick. Then he remembered something.

    _“Tim? Alex? Seriously, come on!”_

   He remembered Tim coughing. He remembered walking along railroad tracks with Alex to that old hospital. Something had happened in there. Something bad. He had woken up in there, feeling confused. He wasn’t sure what had happened to him, he just remembered that he was afraid. Then he had found Tim in one of the rooms. He looked sick and cold too. He had some old blanket over his legs and his jacket wrapped around his shoulders. Then there was nothing else.

   Alex had been there. Brian had wanted to get out of there because he didn’t like it, he didn’t want to get into trouble, but Alex insisted on staying. He could remember Alex watching as it happened. Just staring coldly from behind the camera on the tripod, like he was expecting it. He had staged it. He had set him up. It was like he was suddenly snatched away and taken somewhere else, somewhere strange, alien almost. But there were still trees there. But they looked like they didn’t belong there. Is that where he was now? Was he still in that place? And what about Tim? Had Alex done the same thing to Tim? Was he here too?

   “Tim?!” Brian managed to yell in between coughs. “Tim, are you in here?!”

   There was no reply. Hopefully, he had gotten away. But what if he was still here? What if he was hurt and unconscious? Then Brian thought about it. Even if Tim was here, he wouldn’t be able to do anything for him while he was in this state. He needed to get out of there as soon as possible. He needed to get out and get help. He forced himself to stand up, eventually managing it after the fourth attempt. He guided himself with his hands against the wall until he found an opening. He seemed to be in a long hallway now, with a handrail that was fixed to the wall at about waist-height, so he grabbed onto it, chose a direction and continued. He had to come to an exit sooner or later.

   “Tim?!” he tried again.

   He stopped for a few moments to rest, kneeling down again and shaking, holding his head in his hands, which felt like it weighed a ton. He was having trouble keeping his eyes open. Not that that really mattered since he couldn’t see shit anyway. He coughed more and suddenly tasted blood in his mouth. He spat it out onto the ground. Coughing up blood was bad. That meant you were really sick. Was he dying? Would he ever get out of there alive? He had to. He wasn’t going to quit. Brian wasn’t a quitter. He never had been and he never would be. He reached for the rail again and pulled himself up. He wasn’t going to die, he was going to survive. Tim might need him. He was Tim’s best friend. He couldn’t let him down.

   He didn’t feel as scared anymore, he just felt angry and betrayed, and the anger spurred him on through the pain. Alex. _Fucking_ Alex. They were supposed to be friends. He was helping him make his movie. He had trusted him. Why had he done this to him? Well, he was sure as hell going to find out.

   “I’m coming home, Tim,” he said to himself in the darkness, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I’m coming home and I’m gonna find you and we’ll get better and then we’re gonna get that bastard. You and me together. Just you wait and see. He’s gonna wish he’d never been born."

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #20  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1VKridtP5FQ
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!


	18. Bad Timing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah goes to visit Tim after his conversation with Alex.

 

    

    

    

    _“I was doing fine, I was getting better...”_

    

_July 23 rd 2006_

 

   Sarah felt a lot better today. Her cold – or whatever it had been – had just seemed to disappear overnight. She wasn't really sure why, but whatever, she'd take it. She was bored with being cooped up in the house all day, so she wanted to go out somewhere. But she couldn't seem to get in contact with anyone. Except Jay, but Jay was busy. She hadn't bothered trying Alex though. She was still mad at him for yelling at her the last time they spoke on the phone. Who the hell did he think he was anyway? Bitching to her while she was sick about lack of commitment and not taking his shitty movie seriously. Like she wasn't doing him a favor to start with. Like he hadn't been acting like a total dick for the last month or so. Whatever, fuck him. Fucking asshole.

   So there she was in her car outside Tim's house. He wasn't answering his phone either, but she had nothing else to do so she figured she might as well see if he was home. She didn't really care if it looked a little desperate, she was bored.

   Sarah got out of her car and knocked on Tim's door. She hadn't seen him since she had driven him back home the previous week. The drapes were closed, but his car was parked out front, so she assumed he was there.

   “Come on, answer the goddamn door,” she said irritably under her breath.

   After the fifth knock, he eventually opened the door slightly and squinted at her through the gap, rubbing his eyes. She was slightly taken aback by his unkempt appearance; his hair was all over the place and he was unshaven.

   “Hey, there,” she said, smiling. “You're still alive, then?”

   “What?”

   “Only joking. It's just that you took so long to answer the door.”

   “I was sleeping.”

   “It's half three in the afternoon.”

   “And? I was tired so I went to sleep. That's perfectly normal, right? Nothing weird about it, right?”

   “Are you okay? You seem a little different.”

   “I'm fine.” He sighed impatiently and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick out at even stranger angles than before. “What do you want, Sarah?”

   “It's nice out. Do you want to go somewhere? Maybe we could go for a walk and then get something to eat. What do you think?”

   “No. That all?”

   “Aren't you gonna invite me in?”

   “No. Look, I don't mean to be rude, but I just want to be left alone right now.”

   Goddammit. What the hell was wrong with everyone lately? Well, she wasn't about to give up that easily.

   “Just let me in, Tim, I need to go to the bathroom.”

   He briefly looked over his shoulder.

   “Place is in a bit of a mess.”

   “Oh, I'm sure it's not that bad,” she replied dismissively.

   He shrugged and walked back into the house, leaving the door open.

   She followed him inside to the living room, pushing the door shut behind her. She was wrong. It was that bad. Even in the dimness of the room, it was hard not to notice the unwashed dishes and water bottles left discarded on the floor, and overflowing ashtrays and empty cigarette packets littering the coffee table. Not to mention the torn out pages of what looked like his college textbooks strewn all over the room.

   “You know where the bathroom is.” He sat down on the sofa and lit a cigarette. “Watch yourself on the broken glass in there.”

   “Tim, did you get robbed?” she asked him as he fished the TV remote control from down the side of one of the cushions and switched the TV on, turning the volume up high.

   “No _,_ ” he yelled over the noise.

   Sarah headed through to the hallway and towards the bathroom feeling slightly stunned. She didn't really need to go, but she figured she had better at least make the effort to keep up the pretense.

   She eventually reached the bathroom. Once inside, her attention was immediately drawn to the large mirror – or rather, the fist-sized circular hole in the middle of it. It splintered out like a spiderweb, tinged with red. This was typical. She had only wanted to spend a nice afternoon with a friend and now she was walking into this. What the hell had happened in here anyway? It looked like something out of a horror movie.

   She waited a few moments before flushing the toilet and washing her hands, the shards of mirror inside the basin scraping along the porcelain as the water flowed. Unable to see a towel, she wiped her hands dry on her shorts.

   Sarah left the bathroom and made her way back to the living room, feeling slightly apprehensive. Even though Tim wasn't exactly the most predictable person in the world, he had never been openly hostile to her, not even when he was yelling in her house about monsters. But now he seemed so antagonistic and she didn't understand why. She felt a little hurt.

   She knocked on the living room door and waited a few moments out of politeness, but he didn't answer. She had to go back through there to get out anyway, so she just went in and sat next to him. She tapped his shoulder and smiled, but he just stared at the TV and ignored her. The noise was really overbearing.

   “Do you have to have that so loud?” she yelled. “You going deaf or something?”

   “It's my TV in my house, I can have it loud if I want to.” But he picked up the remote control and turned it down anyway.

   “What happened with the mirror, Tim?”

   “Got broke.”

   “But why?”

   “Because I didn't like what I saw in it.”

   “What about all this?” She gestured towards the floor. “Those are your college books, aren't they?”

   “ _Were._ Won't be needing them anymore.”

   “Why?”

   “What are you, my goddamn shrink? Thought you just wanted to use the bathroom.”

   He took a drag of his cigarette and Sarah noticed the back of his right hand, which was purple and swollen. She took the cigarette from between his fingers and pulled his hand towards her, looking at his knuckles which were shredded and encrusted with dried blood. He suddenly grabbed her wrist and took the cigarette back from her. She involuntarily gasped and flinched as he touched her.

   “Oh, I'm sorry, did I scare you? Door's right there, feel free to leave.”

   “You just made me jump is all. I'm not scared of you, Tim.”

   “You should be.”

   “Well, I'm not. You're nice.” She put her hand on his thigh. “I like you. Why are you trying to push me away?”

   “Because that's what I do, apparently. Drive my friends away. Hurt people who care about me. And I don't even know I'm doing it.” He removed her hand from his leg. “So maybe you should take a hike too before it's your turn, huh?”

   She frowned.

   “Did you have a fight with someone?”

   “No,” he replied.

   They sat in silence for a while watching some game show on the TV, and she didn't really know what to say. Maybe she should just leave. He clearly didn't want her there. But good friends didn't just stick around for the good times, right?

   “Does your hand hurt? Looks pretty swollen.”

   He nodded.

   “You got a first aid kit? I'll clean it up for you if you like.”

    

******

    

   “This is gonna sting,” Sarah said as she squeezed out the excess antiseptic from the piece of absorbent cotton before pressing it on one of the wounds on the back of Tim's hand.

   “Jesus fucking Christ!” Tim winced with a sharp intake of breath, pulling his hand away.

   “I'm sorry. But you don't want it to get infected, do you?”

   He hesitantly extended his right hand back out, smoking a cigarette with his left.

   “This is such a fucking mess, Tim. When did...” Sarah paused and tried to be tactful. “...the mirror get broken?”

   “Don't know. Few days ago maybe.”

   “What, and you just left it like this? You know, maybe you should call your mom and get her to do this for you. I don't want to do anything to make it any worse than it already is.”

   He laughed.

   “No, I don't think so.”

   Sarah frowned and looked up at him.

   “Why not? Thought she was a nurse.”

   He closed his eyes for a few seconds and smoked.

   “She hates me.”

   Sarah was a little surprised by his answer, but assumed he was just being hyperbolic.

   “Oh, I'm sure she doesn't. All kids think that sometimes.”

   “No, you don't understand. She really does hate me. She abandoned me.”

   Sarah just remained silent, continuing to clean the blood from around his knuckles. Tim was usually quite secretive about his family and she wondered why he was suddenly speaking so freely about this. But his tone was so neutral, it was like he was just recalling a mundane event that was of no consequence.

   “Just relax your fingers a little,” she said to him after a few minutes before starting to wrap the bandage around his hand. “I'm almost done but you should go see a doctor if it gets any worse.”

   “I miss her.”

   Sarah really didn't want to continue this conversation. Being someone who belonged to a very loving family, it was something she couldn't relate to and felt that she was somewhat out of her depth. She was worried about saying the wrong thing. But it seemed like Tim wanted to discuss it and it felt kind of nice that he had opened up to her about it.

   “Mind if I ask why? She doesn't sound like a very nice person to me.”

   “Because she's my mom and I love her,” he replied simply. “It wasn't her fault. I made her hate me. Things were really tough for her because of me. I was always getting sick all the time. And she was so beautiful, you know. You saw her photo, right? I sometimes wonder what she looks like now. Or if she'd even recognize me if she passed me in the street. And she bought me a present for my eighteenth birthday, so she can't be all that bad, right?”

   Sarah thought about arguing with him, but pointing out to him how flawed his reasoning was probably wouldn't be constructive to the situation. He had clearly held these beliefs for a long time and it would likely take someone with more qualifications than her to change his mind.

   “So when did you last see her?” she opted for instead.

   “December twentieth, 1995. 10:37 in the morning. It took four people to drag me out of that office. I didn't even get to say goodbye.”

   “Did she put you in a foster home or something? Where was your dad?”

   He didn't answer the question and just looked around the room, pursing his lips.

   “Sorry, this is none of my business,” Sarah said. “I didn't mean to pry.”

   “It's okay, I started it.” He smiled a little, as if trying to reassure her. “Never told anyone about that before.”

   “Not even Brian?”

   He shook his head. Sarah felt a little ashamed at the sense of triumph she got from finding out that she knew something about him that Brian didn't.

   “She didn't deserve you,” Sarah said quietly, feeling some righteous anger on his behalf.

   He nodded slowly and looked up at her.

   “I know.”

   She finished off bandaging his hand and stuck the end down with tape.

   “There you go.” She smiled at him and put his hand back on his knee.

   “Thank you.”

   “Do you still want me to leave?”

   He closed his eyes and shook his head.

   “So are you gonna tell me what this is all about? Something happened, didn't it? You can tell me, I'm your friend.”

   “Brian was my friend too. But I fucked it up.”

   “I knew it. What happened? You two were always so close.”

   “He just realized what a freak I am and decided he wanted to get the hell away from me. He's gone back home to his family. He got Alex to tell me.”

   Sarah frowned. This didn't make sense at all. Brian had never been anything other than complimentary about Tim. Unless something had happened between them very recently that she didn't know about. Maybe she was just out of the loop, she had been sick for a while, after all. But still, something didn't add up.

   “That doesn't sound like Brian to me. If Brian had a problem with you, he'd tell you to your face. He wouldn't run away and let someone else do his dirty work for him. He's not a coward.”

   He sighed and lit a fresh cigarette with the still burning stub of the previous one.

   “Yeah, well, just when you think you know someone, huh?”

   Sarah hesitated. If she was being totally honest with herself, having Brian out of the picture was something that could only benefit her in the end, and she briefly wondered if trying to disabuse Tim of the notion that Brian had permanently deserted him was necessarily something she wanted to do. Being a shoulder to cry on opened up all kinds of opportunities, after all. Three's a crowd, right? But Brian was a good guy, she just couldn't let Tim think badly of him without knowing the full story, even if it was in her best interests.

   “Listen, Alex might have gotten his wires crossed about Brian. You don't know what really happened. Brian only ever said nice things about you to me. He liked being with you.”

   “Why did he leave me then?”

   “I don't know, but I'm still here.” She moved close to him and put her arm around his shoulders. “I'm not gonna leave you.”

   He suddenly turned to her and pulled her into an embrace. She was slightly taken aback by it, as she had never known him to initiate physical contact before – not with her anyway. His arms pressing against her back were pulling on her hair a little, but she didn't mind. She experienced a strange tingling feeling in her stomach and it felt really good. She smiled and turned her head so it was resting on his shoulder.

   “Thank you,” he said. “Thanks for being there. You're a good person.”

   “You're welcome,” came her rather bland reply, but she couldn't be bothered to think of anything else to say, she was too busy enjoying the moment.

   Tim pulled away after a while and continued smoking. She thought about asking him if she could open a window, but she didn't want to spoil the moment.

   “I'm sorry about before, Sarah. You've always been nice to me. I shouldn't have taken shit out on you like that.”

   “It's okay.” She laughed, feeling a little giddy. “I think I just got really bad timing.”

   “Guess you must think I'm pretty stupid, huh?”

   “For punching out your mirror and trashing your books? A little bit.”

   “Made me feel better at the time,” he shrugged.

   “Well, I just hope you're not superstitious.” She looked around at the detritus littering the room. “You want me to help you clean this place up?”

   “You'd do that for me? It'll take ages.”

   “It shouldn't be too bad with the two of us working together. Anyway, I got nothing better to do,” she said miserably. “But it's not a favor. You owe me.”

   “What do you want?” he asked in a slightly wary tone.

   Sarah thought about it for a moment.

   “Take me out to lunch tomorrow. Somewhere fancy. Pick me up from my house at twelve thirty.” She held her hand out to him. “It'll be fun. Might take your mind off things. Do we have a deal?”

   He smiled a little and nodded, shaking her hand.

   “Deal.”

   “Good. I'll be waiting.”

    

******

 

_July 24 th 2006_

 

   Tim combed his hair. It probably looked okay, but he didn't know for sure. He still couldn't face looking in what remained of his mirror. He didn't even want to go out, but he figured he should. He had promised Sarah, after all, and she had helped him out and made him feel a little bit better. Even though he liked her, he really wasn't in the mood for seeing her. He felt embarrassed for talking to her about his mother and pretty much everything else that had happened the previous day. He had to admit, it had felt good to talk about it at the time, but now he wished he'd just kept his stupid mouth shut. That was what he had a therapist for, right? He was just glad that he had caught himself and clammed up when he did. What if she told people about his mother like Brian had about his seizures?

   But Tim was trying not to think about him. However, that was difficult when all he saw when he closed his eyes was Brian's face smiling at him, his voice repeatedly telling him that he was his best friend, like it was on a scratched CD. Then when that stopped, Alex's voice came through.

   _“He never wants to see you again.”_

   Tim's thoughts were still all disjointed and he was having trouble concentrating on anything except for how shitty he was feeling, and he had taken to biting his fingers in an effort to refocus his mind, the pain acting as an exhilarating distraction from the confusion and humiliation he felt. Not enough to break the skin, but enough to hurt. That was one of his old habits from the hospital. He knew he had to snap out of it or he would end up back in there. But maybe that was where he belonged. He had started seeing things again, after all. His pills must have stopped working. He had probably just built up a tolerance to them. His doctor said that might happen. That would explain why he hadn't realized that he was upsetting Brian.

   Maybe his doctor would be able to get him transferred to a different college. Some place he could start over and not make the same mistakes again. Not impose himself on normal people just because they showed him the slightest hint of affection like the inadequate, overdependent loser that he was. Not attach himself to someone like a leech until he emotionally bled them dry. Not indulge himself in destructive fits of catharsis that made people worry about him. Just do his work and keep to himself. Maybe he would pretend like he couldn't talk, isolate himself that way. That'd work. Run away. Hide. Lie. Fresh start? Sure.

   He looked up at the clock on his bedroom wall. It was almost quarter past twelve. He took his tan jacket from where it was hanging on the door handle and put it on. It wasn't actually cold, but the pockets were big, so it was more convenient to wear it. He picked up his bottle of pills, cell phone, wallet and cigarettes from the table by his bed and put them in his jacket pockets, keeping his car key in his hand.

   Just as he was about to leave the bedroom, his cell phone rang. Subconsciously hoping it was Sarah calling to cancel at the last minute, he eagerly retrieved it from his pocket. But it wasn't Sarah. As he read the name on the small display screen, his eyes widened and jaw dropped open.

   Brian.

   The call lasted less than twenty seconds. Then Tim dropped the phone on the bed and ran out of the house. He got in his car and drove away, heading for the highway out of town.

   He forgot all about Sarah.

    

******

    

   Sarah stood outside her house waiting, looking expectantly in the direction of the sound of every car engine she heard approaching. She looked at her watch and sighed impatiently. He was an hour late. She wished he'd hurry up, she was hungry. She took her cell phone from her bag and called him for the fifth time, but there was no answer. She felt disappointed, she had been looking forward to this. But thinking about it, maybe she had been a little too pushy the previous day and he didn't really want to see her, just telling her what she wanted to hear to shut her up and get her out of his face. She had taken advantage of the situation, after all. But he had seemed okay when they were tidying up, he seemed genuinely grateful and kissed her on the cheek when she left. Besides, he could have let her know in advance that he wasn't going to show up, and that hurt a little.

   Well, if that was the case, she might as well go back inside; there was no point in hanging around out there in her best clothes. It probably made her look a little crazy actually.

   Just as she was about to take her keys out of her bag, she heard a car pull up, followed by a familiar voice.

   “Hey there, stranger. Long time no see.”

   “Alex?” Sarah smiled a little, pleased to see him despite still being somewhat angry with him.

   She walked over to the car and leaned down to talk to him, resting her hand on the roof. He seemed to have lost a little weight from his face since she last saw him and he looked to have dark shadows beneath his eyes, like he hadn't been sleeping much. He still looked pretty handsome though, one hand on the steering wheel and looking up at her through the rolled-down passenger side window. She couldn't help noticing the video camera on the dashboard.

   “You're looking nice.” He smirked at her and winked. “All dressed up and nowhere to go?”

   “Think I've been stood up,” she replied nonchalantly. “Supposed to be going on a lunch date.”

   “Well, it's his loss.” He shrugged. “I take it you're feeling better then?”

   “Uh-huh.”

   “That's great. I'm happy for you, I mean that.”

   “Wait a minute, why are you being so nice all of a sudden? You've been a real jerk, you know that?”

   “I'm sorry about all that. I've been feeling kinda stressed out lately. Wanna let me make it up to you?”

   “And how you gonna do that?” She narrowed her eyes to him in mock suspicion.

   “You up for a little road trip? Just you and me?”

   “What would Amy think about that?”

   “Amy ain't here, is she? I won't tell her if you don't.” He paused for a moment. “Besides, it's none of her business. You're my friend. Why should I treat you any different just because you're a girl? I don't even think of you in that way, anyhow.”

   “Thanks a lot, Alex.”

   “No, I just mean you're more like a sister to me is all. So what do you think?”

   “What did you have in mind?”

   “A little urbexing. You know that old hospital I'm using as a location for _Marble Hornets_? Thought we could go look around and I'd get some shots of you in there. You're still into shit like that, right? Spooky old abandoned places out in the middle of the woods? You'll like it there, it's really creepy. We'll have a good time, it'll be like the old days.”

   Sarah thought about it for a moment. It did sound like something she'd enjoy doing, even if it wasn't how she had envisaged spending her day. Then she thought about Tim and felt guilty for some reason, like she would be somehow betraying him by going out with Alex. But this was something she wanted to do. Sure, Tim was interesting in a brooding Byronic kind of way, but Alex was fun. And he seemed to be acting like his old self again. And Tim had let her down, after all, not the other way around. She didn't have anything to feel guilty about.

   “Okay, just let me go get changed.” She giggled a little. “Can't exactly go wandering around a derelict building in a dress and heels.”

   “Knock yourself out.” He smiled at her. “I'll even buy you lunch, if you like.”

   She smiled back.

   “You got yourself a deal.”

    

******

 

   Alex waited while Sarah went back inside to change, tapping his fingers percussively on the steering wheel. There was a part of him that wished he was just going on a fun day out with his friend, and there was a voice in his head that kept telling him that he didn't have to do this, that it wasn't too late to stop and think of another way. But he had to show That Thing that he was serious, that he was committed. That he didn't make promises that he couldn't keep. He had come this far and he was so close. He looked into the camera lens and nodded, as if reassuring it that he wouldn't buckle to his conscience.

   He heard the front door of Sarah's house close and watched as she walked down the garden path and approached his car, now dressed in jeans and a T-shirt with her hair tied back, but the makeup remaining on her face. He was telling the truth before. She had looked nice. He knew who she had made that effort for as well. And that meant that he was still around. Or maybe not seeing as he had failed to show up to meet her. But Alex had done all he could as far as Tim was concerned. It couldn't blame him for that.

   She got in the car and closed the door, putting the backpack she was carrying down by her feet.

   “You ready?” he asked her.

   “Yeah,” she replied, smiling. “Let's hit the road.”

   “You got it.”

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #59:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GLbp-1NjZsM
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy it!


	19. Hometown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim and Brian are reunited.

 

    

    

    _“What if that wasn't a hallucination at all?”_

    

    

_July 24 th 2006_

 

    _“Brian?”_

    _“Tim, thank God!”_

    _“Brian, are you okay? Where are you?”_

    _“I'm in the hospital.”_

    _“What?! Which hospital?”_

    _“In Rosswood.”_

    _“What are you doing there?”_

    _“Nurse said an ambulance brought me.”_

    _“Oh, the normal hospital. What happened?”_

    _“I need to see you.”_

    _“Hold on, I'm on my way.”_

    

   The phone call looped over and over again in Tim's head as he drove along the road to Rosswood. He couldn't quite believe it. It had been like his mind had been cleared of everything except his sole objective of getting to Brian and seeing him again. That was all that mattered. He hadn't even said goodbye to him on the phone. He had forgotten that he even had the cell phone in his hand in the first place, just letting it slide out from his fingers. He didn't know what had happened to him or why he was in Rosswood in the first place. But he knew where Brian was and that he was alive and that he didn't hate him and that he wanted to see him and that was all he needed to know.

    _I need to see you._

   Everything was going to be okay.

   Being someone who wasn't exactly a stranger to having a tenuous grip on reality, Tim suddenly started to wonder if his conversation with Alex had actually taken place at all or if he had imagined the whole thing. That would explain why he saw That Thing there. Or maybe it was a dream? Or what if it was the phone call that wasn't real? Fuck. Now he was confused. Next chance he got, he would pull over and check his phone. But he didn't have his phone, he had left it at home like an idiot. Goddammit. No, he had to believe the phone call was real. He would find out soon enough. He estimated he was only about a half hour away now. He was almost there.

    _I'm on my way._

   “I'm on my way, Brian. I'll see you real soon.”

   He hoped he would anyway.

   Brian meant a lot to Tim, more than he could he could ever tell him to his face. He had always thought of Brian as the embodiment of how his own life would have been if things hadn't gone so wrong from the start. If he hadn't been born so sick; if he'd had a family who loved him; if he hadn't started hearing voices telling him to run away from home in the middle of the night; if he'd been given the chance to attend school beyond second grade. Brian was an example of what Tim could have been, he was the personification of his own lost potential.

   Ever since Tim first met Brian in that hospital room, he saw in him an unbroken, idealized version of himself. But he never felt any envy or resentment towards Brian – which was something he was wont to do when he first started attending college and was confronted with just how different he actually was from the other students. He had only been out of the hospital for around five months when he started college, and had been accustomed to spending most of his time either alone or with people who were much older than himself, so suddenly finding himself surrounded by so many people of his own age came as something of a culture shock, and he hated it.

   He misinterpreted youthful exuberance and immaturity for aggression and malice, and his paranoia and bitterness went into overdrive. Every overly loud laugh he heard felt as if it was directed at him, every slammed door felt like a threat, every clumsy collision in the hallway felt deliberate. Even when people tried to be nice to him and asked him to join them at lunch, he assumed the worst and politely declined. He didn't want their company. They weren't like him. They had things he could never have. They got to do things he was never able to do. They didn't understand. They could never understand. They were probably just making fun of him anyway. When Brian had told him about his pills being stolen, the information merely served as confirmation bias to his already (unfairly, for the most part) low opinion of his peers.

   But Brian was different. He seemed genuinely warm and compassionate, but strong and patient, while at the same time being totally devoid of arrogance. He made Tim feel safe and cared about in an environment that he found so hostile and intimidating. Tim often wondered what Brian got out of it all. Tim was polite, but he wasn't exactly a fun person to be around. He hardly ever even spoke initially, unless he was spoken to first. But that didn’t seem to matter to Brian, he merely accepted him as he found him and befriended him, and Tim responded with complete devotion and reverence.

   Because by virtue of being Brian's friend, he got the opportunity to share in his experiences, to get a taste of what it was like to be healthy and popular and confident. To be normal by proxy. Being with Brian made him feel like he belonged, even if he knew in his heart that he really didn't. Brian made him think that maybe there was more to him than what was written in his ridiculously long medical file, that maybe life could be more than just a host of incurable conditions that needed to be managed and made bearable, that maybe life was worth living after all. Brian represented the possibility of a better tomorrow, a future with friends and happiness and fun rather than just loneliness, medication schedules and doctor's appointments, a future he had previously thought was out of reach for him. Brian was always more than just a friend, he was a ray of hope in an existence that once seemed so bleak and desolate.

   And that was what Brian meant to Tim.

    

******

 

   Tim turned into the hospital driveway. The last time he could remember traveling along that road, he was going in the opposite direction. He had spent a few days in this hospital after the fire. It was four years ago. He remembered sitting in the passenger seat of his doctor's car with a bandage around his left wrist. As they had approached the junction with the busy road, Tim had flinched as each vehicle sped past right in front of his eyes, grabbing hold of his doctor's shoulder in panic.

   “It's all right, Timothy, there's no need to be afraid. I'm taking you home. We'll be there in about forty-five minutes. You got a new home now, okay? But don't worry, it'll be the same people taking care of you. Just a different building is all. Everything's gonna be fine, I promise.”

   Then he had spent the rest of the journey staring out of the car window at the strange, noisy outside world filled with people and cars and shops and houses that he hadn't seen for six and a half years and wouldn't again for another three.

   _“Never go back,”_ he internally ordered himself as he parked his car in the hospital parking lot. _“Never go back to being that way. Scared of cars. Scared of imaginary monsters. Scared of everything. Never again. Look forward. I'm better now.”_

    

_******_

    

   Tim opened the door to Brian's hospital room. He had been told that Brian was found unconscious by the side of some railroad tracks the previous day and brought into the emergency room. He was exhausted and very dehydrated but otherwise seemed to be physically fine. He had only just regained consciousness that morning. He woke up screaming. He refused them permission to contact his parents. Did Tim happen to know if he had any history of mental illness? Or drug or alcohol abuse? Tim answered in the negative. No, definitely not.

   Apparently Brian begged them to charge his cell phone for him because he needed to call Tim. He didn't know his number by heart, it was in his cell phone. He said he needed to find Tim because he might be in danger and he needed to find out if he was okay. He said it was really, really important. He was talking all kinds of nonsense, Tim was told. They eventually relented and let him have his own way as he was causing a disturbance. He had fallen asleep again after making the phone call, which came as something of a relief to everyone.

   Tim closed the door behind him before slowly walking over to the bed. There he was. His skin was paler than usual, making his slightly parted lips look slightly more red. He didn’t stir as Tim approached him, his eyes remaining firmly closed, and Tim wondered if he had been given something to knock him out and shut him up. But he knew they were under no obligation to tell him if they had.

   He reached out and clumsily combed Brian's hair back with his fingers. It went a little curly when he let it grow longer and was almost blond from having been bleached by the sun. He leaned over and kissed him on the forehead.

   “I missed you so much, Brian,” he whispered, staring at Brian's face and tracing the back of his finger down his cheek. “You're my best friend.”

   Tim sat down on the chair next to the bed and held Brian's hand, raising it up and uncurling the fingers before pressing the palm against the side of his own face and closing his eyes for a few moments.

   “I'll take care of you if you need me to, I promise. I owe you that, right?” He laughed a little and placed Brian's hand back down on the bed, intertwining their fingers together. “Can't hardly take care of myself, but I'll do my best. And you know, I'm a lot better than I used to be. You should have seen me back then. I was totally useless. Couldn't do nothing, just like a little kid. But you don't know about any of that. I'll tell you one day, I swear. I'll tell you everything. But all that can wait, I guess.”

   Tim smiled and released Brian's hand before taking his bottle of pills out of his pocket and taking one. He looked at Brian's face again for a few moments, and a serenity flowed through him and made him feel a little dizzy. Then he leaned forward and rested his head on the edge of the mattress next to where Brian's hand lay, which he gently grasped.

   Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

   Everything was going to be okay.

    

******

 

   “Tim. Tim, wake up.”

   The voice was like music, accompanied by the sensation of his shoulder being shaken. Brian’s voice. He opened his eyes, and it took him a few moments to remember where he was and what he was doing there. Then he smiled, raising his head. He sat back in the chair and stretched his arms out, staring down at Brian's face which was smiling back at him.

   “Brian, you're awake,” he said in a voice thick with sleep. “Are you feeling okay?”

   “Better than I was.”

   Tim got up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed, twisting around so he was facing Brian. There was so much he wanted to say, but the recollection of what he had been told about how Brian had been acting when he woke up that morning caused him to temper his own emotions a little. He didn't really trust himself to not make matters worse and decided to tread carefully. This wasn’t about how he was feeling, after all.

   “I'm here,” he stated, spreading his arms out theatrically. “You did want to see me, right? You did say that, right?”

   “Yeah.” Brian drew the word out with rising intonation, as if unsure of why he was being asked for clarification.

   “Are you hurting anywhere? If you are, you should tell 'em. They'll give you something to make you feel better.”

   “Just a little headache. I'm sure it'll pass.”

   “Are you thirsty? Hold on a second, I'll get you some water.”

   Just as he was about to stand up, Brian grabbed Tim's wrist and pulled him back down again. He sat up and stared into Tim's eyes, placing his hands on his shoulders.

   “Tim, I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

   “I thought I was never gonna see you again. I thought I'd lost you. You mean so much to me, Brian. I'm so happy.”

   Then Brian pulled Tim close to him and held him tight, and Tim cried, feeling overwhelmed by everything that had happened. But none of that mattered anymore. It might as well have been years ago that he was plucking out shards of broken glass from the flesh on the back of his hand and tearing out the pages of his college books while sobbing uncontrollably, wishing he could just _fucking die_ because living seemed to hurt so much all the time. It didn't matter because Brian was there, holding him. Everything felt so good now.

   They broke apart and held each other's faces, pressing their foreheads together and laughing, and the sensation of Brian's fingers digging into the back of his head felt so exquisite.

   “Told you I was coming home, Tim. Don’t worry, I’ll think up a plan. He’s not gonna get away with this,” Brian said, moving back and staring at Tim, who frowned slightly in response to his words. “You’re dealing with all this really well. Kinda thought you’d be freaking out more than me.”

   “I’m just happy to see you. Why should I be freaking out?”

   “Aren’t you angry?!” Brian yelled incredulously. “I am!”

   Tim flinched a little at the unexpectedly raised voice.

   “Angry about what?”

   He suddenly leaned forward and grabbed Tim’s jacket, pulling him towards him.

   “How did you get away? Are you okay now?”

   “Get away? I'm fine,” Tim replied in a shaky voice. “Why shouldn't I be okay?”

   “Don’t you remember? We were cold. You were sick. My head hurt. Does your head hurt too?” He paused and frowned, looking down. “It was dark and we were cold.”

   Tim looked at Brian with the same confused and surprised expression that he was usually on the receiving end of. This wasn't right. This wasn't Brian. He was usually so calm and easygoing. Erratic and overemotional was more Tim’s _modus operandi._ Something had to have happened to make him behave this way.

   “Brian, you’re scaring me.”

   “I’m sorry.” Brian let go of Tim’s jacket, but Tim didn’t move back, placing his hand on Brian’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Tim.”

   “What happened to you, Brian? What were you even doing out here? This is my hometown.”

   “We were in that old hospital shooting the movie. I saw you there. You were coughing a lot.”

   “But I haven't showed you where it is yet. Do you think you might be getting things all mixed up in your mind?”

   Tim inwardly groaned as he realized that he was parroting a line said to him the past.

   “I'm not mixed up, you're the one who's mixed up!” He closed his eyes for a few seconds. “Railroad tracks. You walk along railroad tracks to get to it. It's in some woods near a park. There. Now how would I know that unless I'd been there?”

   Tim tried to recall if he had ever discussed these details with Brian, but he doubted it. It wasn't exactly a subject he liked to dwell on. He had regretted suggesting the place to Alex as soon as the words left his mouth, but he had wanted to please Alex and make him like him a little more. Maybe Alex had just researched the place online and found its location himself. But then why had he acted like he hadn’t gone there yet?

   “But Alex said–”

   “Alex is a fucking liar! He hurt us, Tim! He took us there and he hurt us! You can’t trust him! You can’t believe a word he fucking says!”

   “What?” Tim was slightly taken aback at the ferocity with which Brian reacted to Alex’s name. He had always thought the two of them were pretty good friends.

   “I don’t even know how long I was there. When do you remember last seeing me?”

   Tim thought for a moment, silently counting days off on his fingers.

   “Must be over a week now.”

   “I’ve been gone a week?! What did you think had happened? Where did you think I was?”

   “Alex told me you went away. That you were getting scared of me so you quit college and went home to your mom and dad.”

   “And you believed him? You believed I'd just walk out and leave you like that?”

   “I didn't want to, but I was all confused and upset,” Tim said, sounding confused and upset. “He said I shouldn't trust you and that you'd told everyone about my pills. It seemed like he knew.”

   “He tricked you, Tim. Do you really think I'd do something like that?”

   Despite being a profligate liar himself, Tim had never been any good at detecting deception in others, and he suddenly felt very guilty for being so gullible upon seeing how offended Brian was by his remarks. But at the time, he didn’t really have a reason to disbelieve Alex. They had never exactly been the best of friends, but he had never seemed like a bad guy.

   “He was there when I went to your place looking for you, he had your keys and everything.”

   Brian’s eyes widened.

   “He was in my fucking house?!”

   Tim nodded.

   “I'm sorry, Brian, I'm so stupid, please don't be mad at me.”

   “I'm not mad at you.” Brian said the words slowly and quietly, as if he were a frustrated father trying to control his temper and reassure a young child at the same time. “What else did he say?”

   “We talked about making plans to go to the old hospital to shoot the movie.”

   “We already went, Tim. I don't know why you think we didn't, but we did. I told you, I saw you there. I went with Alex, right? I thought it was just the two of us. He told me to stand by a door and lean my head against it. He was just staring at me, then he looked up and smiled. Then all of a sudden, I was somewhere else. It was night time and there was just concrete and trees everywhere. That’s all I remember about it. Then I woke up back in the hospital in the day again and found you in one of the rooms. You looked really sick and I tried to help you get out and then I don't know what the fuck happened. I woke up and it was pitch dark and freezing cold and my head was fucking killing me. I can't even remember how I got out or how I got here or nothing.” He briefly shook his head and covered his mouth with his hand. “There's something weird about that place, you know. Like it's haunted. What do you know about it? You grew up around here, you must have heard rumors or something.”

   “What, like ghost stories?” Tim shook his head. “No. It was a mental hospital. There was a fire there in 2002 and it closed down. They moved all the patients out to another facility about forty miles from here.” Tim cleared his throat, realizing he was giving too many details for someone with only a supposedly passing interest in the place. “So, yeah...That's all there is to know.”

   “No, there's something evil in there, like...like a demon or something. Alex knows. He stood there and watched while it hurt me and then left me there. Left _us_ there. I was so scared, I thought I was gonna die. Fucking bastard, I'm gonna kill him.”

   “Just calm down, okay? I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this.”

   “Like what?”

   “I don’t know,” Tim shrugged helplessly. “Maybe you were dreaming?”

   Brian rolled his eyes and stared at Tim for a few seconds before silently shaking his head and turning away.

   “I know it happened. There must be a way I can prove it to you. There must be...”

   “You don’t need to prove–”

   “You still have those tapes?” Brian suddenly asked, grabbing Tim by the shoulders.

   “Tapes?”

   “Yeah, you know, for the behind-the-scenes stuff Alex told you to film? You didn't give 'em back to him, did you?”

   “No, they're at home.”

   “Good. There might be something on them. I'll prove it to you, Tim.” He looked down and shook his head. “I'm not crazy, I know I'm not. We were cold.”

   “It’s okay, I believe you,” Tim said reassuringly, if not completely truthfully.

   “Have you been taking your pills? Maybe that’s why you don’t remember being there. Maybe you had a seizure and hit your head again or something.”

   Tim was a little startled at the way Brian just blurted those words out. He was usually pretty tactful when it came to that topic because he knew how sensitive Tim was about it.

   “Yeah, maybe.”

   Tim thought it unlikely, but just wanted to drop the subject. His seizures did screw with his memory sometimes, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t had one for a few months at least. But it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, and he did used to have blackouts when he was in the hospital. Then he remembered that he had woken up with that cut on his head last week. He still didn’t know how that had happened.

   “You do believe me, don’t you, Tim?” Brian asked, as if he could read his thoughts. “I’d never lie to you, you know that, right?”

   Something must have happened to Brian, that was certain. Why else would he be in Rosswood of all places? Whether he was accidentally embellishing what had happened or not was another matter. Fear could make the mind play tricks on you, Tim knew that better than most. Could be something like PTSD, Tim mused, but he was no expert, and arguing with Brian about what did or didn’t happen probably wasn’t going to help. So Tim figured the best course of action would be to just humor him. To lie.

   “Of course I do. You’re my best friend.”

   “I can’t believe this is happening to me. It’s all his fault. I’m not crazy.”

   “I know. Look, just try not to worry about that for now. We’ll watch the tapes and figure it out. All that matters is that you're all right.”

   “I wanna get out of here, Tim. I hate these fucking places.”

   “You do? Why?” Tim genuinely didn’t understand.

   “Because they’re depressing.”

   “But people are nice to you in hospitals. They take care of you.”

   Brian shrugged.

   “Guess you’re just more used to it than I am. I didn’t mean to be rude about your parents or anything. Shit, they don’t work here, do they?”

   “No.” Tim took hold of Brian’s hand again. “You’re sure you feel well enough to leave? Have you spoken to a doctor?”

   “I don’t need a doctor, I’m not sick. Just a little tired is all, okay?”

   “Okay.” Tim knew there no point in protesting. Brian always was stubborn, and there was no way he was going stay in the hospital if he didn’t want to, with or without Tim’s blessing. “We can stay at my grandfather’s house tonight, if you like. It’s not too far from here and then we’ll head back tomorrow.”

   Brian nodded.

   “I don’t know what I’m gonna do when I see him again, you know. I mean, what if that...monster – or whatever it is – stays with him? What if it’s like his guardian or something?”

   The word “monster” seemed to flip a switch in Tim’s head and old memories suddenly flashed through his mind, as if they were being displayed on an internal movie projector, the yelling voice just a younger, higher-pitched version of his own.

   Monster?

    _There’s a monster in my room!_

   A monster in the hospital.

    _It’s right next to my bed!_

   Could it be...?

    _Let me out!_

   No, monsters don’t exist.

    _I’m not a liar!_

   That was what everyone had told him.

    _It was right there!_

   He was sick.

    _Help me!_

   There was no monster in the hospital.

    _I want my doctor!_

   There was no such thing.

    _Somebody please help me!_

   It was impossible.

    _There’s nothing there, Timothy. Nothing at all. There’s no such thing as monsters. It’s called a hallucination. It’s like a dream, but you see it when you’re awake. That’s all it is. It can’t hurt you. Now stop screaming, okay? Listen to my voice. It’s safe here. You trust us, don’t you? You’re seeing it because you’re not well. That’s why you’re here. It’s what’s called a symptom. Do you know what that word means, Timothy? You know how you get a runny nose when you have a cold? Well, that’s a symptom. Your nose stops running when you get better, right? The same’s gonna happen with this. It’ll go away once you get better. Just think of it as a runny nose. Now just hold still, this’ll only hurt for a second and then you’ll go to sleep..._

   “Tim? Tim? Tim!”

   The sound of his name being said and fingers snapping right by his ear brought Tim back to reality, blinking rapidly and feeling slightly disoriented.

   “You okay? You kinda spaced out for a minute there.”

   Hallucinations weren’t transferable, right? Schizophrenia wasn’t contagious, right? No, that’s fucking ridiculous. He was better now. Kind of. He hadn’t seen it for years. Except for in Brian’s house. When Alex was there...

   “Monster...” Tim paused for a few moments, wondering whether giving the notion even an ounce of credibility was particularly wise. “This...monster, or ghost or whatever; what did it look like?”

   “I’m not sure. It came up behind me. Must have been big though, Alex was looking right up at it. Smiling. He was smiling! It was totally deliberate! He was happy about it, the fucking piece of shit! He was happy about it hurting me!”

   “Shh...You need to calm down, okay?” Tim glanced furtively towards the small pane of glass in the door, checking if anyone was walking past the room.

   Brian nodded.

   Tim bit his lip, trying to make some sense of this situation. It was just a coincidence, it had to be. Monsters weren’t real. You couldn’t hurt your friends with figments of your own imagination. He couldn’t believe he was having to remind himself of this shit.

   “Have you been hearing voices in your head?” Tim said quickly and quietly.

   “What?! No! You do think I’m going nuts, don’t you?! I thought I could trust you, Tim, I thought you were my friend!”

   “You can, I am, I promise. Look, I’m sorry, okay? But you gotta listen to me, Brian, because I _know_ about this shit.” Goddammit. Why had he even said that? He knew he shouldn’t have said that. “I...It’s just...My dad told me about this patient he had once; this kid who thought he saw monsters and heard voices and they locked him up for fucking years because they thought he was mentally ill – but he really was, not like you – and I just don’t want the same thing to happen to you is all. So maybe just quit talking about it while we’re still here, okay? Because you don’t know who’s listening, and before you know it, they’ll call your parents whether you like it or not and get a shrink in here and then that’s you off to the fucking psych ward and there’s _jack shit_   you’ll be able to do about it.”

   Tim threw his hands up in the air helplessly, slightly out of breath from speaking so much all at once.

   “Oh God, you’re right!” Brian covered his face with his hands. “What am I gonna do?!”

   “Just don’t yell and stay calm, okay? And don’t mention...you know. We’ll decide what to do about Alex when we get home and watch the tapes. Just try to chill out. Trust me, okay?”

   Brian nodded.

   “I’m scared, Tim, I’m not used to feeling this way. On edge, you know?”

   “I know.” Tim placed his hand on Brian’s arm and smiled at him. “I'll protect you, Brian, I swear. I'll make sure nobody ever hurts you again. I’d do anything for you.”

   Brian smiled a little at Tim, and Tim thought he noticed something different in his eyes.

   “You really mean that? You’d do anything for me?”

   “Yes,” Tim replied.

   “Why?”

   “Because I need you.” Tim lowered his eyes and nodded his head. “I need you, that’s all.”

   “Thank you.”

   “Why are you thanking me? I didn’t do nothing.”

   “Because you’re my best friend.”

   Tim smiled. He looked up and saw Brian smiling at him and it was suddenly like everything was back to normal again. But the abrupt shift in mood was a little disconcerting.

   “I missed you so much,” Tim said softly. “You're never gonna leave me again, are you? I never want to be away from you again.”

   “I never left you in the first place, did I? Not on purpose anyway. We’ll always be together. We’re a team, you and me, right?”

   “Yeah. Yeah, we are.”

   “By the way, what did you do to your hand?” Brian asked casually.

   Tim shrugged and shook his head.

   “Shut it in the car door.”

   “You have the worst luck, you know that?”

   “Tell me about it.” Tim looked down at the bandage on his hand and his mind suddenly traced back to how it had got there. “Fuck. I was supposed to meet Sarah at half twelve.”

   “Just call her and apologize, it’ll be okay.”

   “I left my phone at home.”

   “Here, use mine.” Brian picked up his cell phone from the cabinet and handed it to Tim. “I got her number in there. Tell her to stay away from Alex.”

   Tim scrolled through the numbers on Brian's phone and called Sarah's. It rang but there was no answer.

   “She’s not answering.”

   “Send her a text message then.”

   “You do it for me, it always takes me ages to write it out.” He gave the phone back to Brian, watching as his thumbs flew rapidly over the buttons.

   “Done,” Brian announced after about ten seconds.

   “Thanks. She’s gonna be _so_ pissed at me.”

   “Don’t worry, Sarah’s really cool. I’m sure she won’t hold it against you.”

   “Hope not.”

   “Do me a favor, Tim. Go get someone and tell them I wanna leave, okay? I probably have to sign some shit or something.”

   “Okay, I’ll just go out for a smoke and wait for you outside then.”

   “Sure, I’ll see you out there.”

    

******

    

   About a half hour later, Tim and Brian were sitting in Tim’s car heading down the hospital driveway. Tim glanced over while he was waiting for the car in front to pull out onto the highway, noticing Brian with his hand flat against his forehead and he briefly wondered whether he should have tried to persuade him to stay in the hospital.

   “My fucking head,” Brian complained. “You got any painkillers?”

   “No, I don’t. We can call in somewhere and buy some if you like.” Tim paused, expecting Brian to answer, but he didn’t. “You’re sure you’re gonna be okay? Maybe you shouldn’t have checked yourself out so soon.”

   “Tim, stop fussing. It’s just a headache. Goddammit...”

   Brian sighed irritably and started emptying out the contents of his pockets onto his lap, as if to do an inventory check.

   “Well, at least the son of a bitch didn’t take my car.” Brian briefly held his car key out in front of Tim’s face.

   “There nothing else missing?”

   “No. Seems like he just made off with my house keys.”

   The car in front pulled out and Tim advanced and approached the junction. He leaned forward and looked in both directions, waiting for a break in the traffic.

   “So where _is_ your car exactly?”

   “Parking lot in Rosswood Park. That’s where he told me to meet him.”

   “I used to love that place when I was a kid,” Tim said distractedly. “You wanna go get it now? You okay to drive?”

   “No. I don’t think I can face going back there today. I just feel really fucking tired. And pissed off. And freaked out.”

   “It's all right, Brian, there's no need to be afraid.” Tim saw an opportunity to go and turned left onto the highway, heading towards his grandfather’s old house. “I'm taking you home.”

    

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry #66:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hh58HVegQE
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you very much for reading. I hope you enjoyed the chapter.


	20. Scorched Earth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex takes Sarah to the abandoned hospital.

    

    

    

   _"Smile for the camera"_  

 

_July 24 th 2006_

    

   “Can we have the radio on?” Sarah asked Alex as he steered the car out of the parking lot of the diner they had just eaten lunch at.

   “Sure, go ahead.” He switched on the car radio and received an earful of static, so quickly turned the volume down. “You try to find something. It’s that button there.”

   “Okay.”

   Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her leaning forward to tune in the radio, snippets of various stations she promptly rejected blaring out into the car. These included country music, rock music, someone speaking in Spanish, a political debate, some crackpot preacher ranting about how the end was nigh and everyone was going to Hell unless they repented their sins – which Alex kinda wished she’d left on – a sports talk show and some phone-in about government conspiracies.

   After about a minute, she settled on one which featured bland pop music interspersed with mind-numbingly inane conversation about trivial bullshit. Still, if it kept her quiet, he was willing to tolerate it. Not that he had much of a choice in the matter.

   “There,” she said, sounding pleased with herself, as if she had accomplished some impressive feat. “This is nice, isn’t it? Cheer up, Alex, we’re supposed to be having fun!”

   God, she was annoying. She had annoyed him all through lunch. Everything about her seemed to infuriate him – the way she noisily scraped her knife and fork against the plate, the way she kept asking him questions about why he had been acting so strangely lately. Because he knew he could talk to her about his problems, right? She would always be there for him. They were friends. Maybe he was suffering from stress. Had he considered going to counseling? Worth a try, right? And why did he have to bring the camera into the diner and keep filming while they were eating? That’s a little weird, Alex.

   _“Shut up. Just shut the fuck up and eat,”_ he had thought as she seemingly endlessly twisted spaghetti around her fork. _“I have no interest in your goddamn opinion."_

   “Uh-huh,” was his actual reply.

   “Are you and Amy having some problems?”

   _“No, that’s the one thing I don’t have a problem with. How astute of you, Sarah.”_  

   “Just the long-distance thing, you know? It’s tough sometimes. Stuff gets complicated.”

   His jaw was now aching from clenching his teeth so much and smiling with false amiability. Had he always found her so irritating? He doubted it. Alex had never been one to suffer fools gladly. Not that she was a fool, far from it. But he must have liked her at some point, they had been friends for years.

   _“But that was then and this is now,”_ he thought to himself. _“It’s not her, it’s me.”_  

   Just like the main character he had written for _Marble Hornets,_ it was him that had changed, not the people around him. Maybe it was his mind’s way of helping him cope with what he was planning to do with her. Making him find her loathsome and repellent so that it was easier for him to dehumanize her, to make him forget that he had actually cared about her once. Should he submit to this mindset or try to fight it? He didn’t know. But maybe it was simply a case of familiarity breeding contempt.

   “How much further is it?”

   “We’ll probably get there in about an hour and a half, something like that, depending on traffic.”

   “We’ll be late getting back then?”

   “Yeah.”

   “By the way, how come Seth isn’t coming with us? I thought he was doing all the camera work.”

   Shit. He should have expected her to ask about Seth.

   “Oh, yeah, about that, didn’t you know?” He was stalling to give himself more time to make something up.

   “Know what? Is he all right?”

    _“Come on, Alex, think. You’re a smart guy, you can bullshit your way through this.”_

   “He’s had to go back home for a few weeks." 

   “Why?”

   “Death in the family.”

   “Who was it?”

   “His grandmother.”

   “Poor Seth. Wait a minute, didn’t she die last year?”

   Goddammit, she was right.

   “We have two, don’t we?!” he yelled, feeling his face flush red with anger. “What is this, an interrogation? You asked me about Seth, I fucking told you. His grandmother’s dead. Both of them. Happy now?”

   To Alex’s relief, there was silence for about a minute and he managed to regain his composure a little.

   “Are you okay, Alex? Your mood seems to have turned a little sour. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

   She was always like this. Questions, questions, _fucking_ questions, all the goddamn time. It was like she thought everyone was always lying to her. Well, he _was_ lying to her, but that was besides the point. He shifted a little further away from her. He held the steering wheel with his right hand, his left elbow leaning against the door panel, head resting against his tensed outstretched fingertips, eyes fixed on the road ahead. He had to try to maintain a friendly facade or she would get suspicious. There was still a long way to go and his mask was slipping already.

   “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me,” he said through gritted teeth. “Sorry.”

   “It’s okay. I seem to be pissing everyone off lately. You, Tim...” She sounded a little sad and he momentarily felt bad for snapping at her. “Oh yeah, I got a bone to pick with you, Alex. What the hell did you say to him? He’s really depressed.”

   Alex laughed.

   “Go crying to you, did he?” Alex briefly turned to her, mockingly protruding his lower lip before smiling and shaking his head. “Did he tell you horrible old Alex had been mean to him?”

   “So you did say those things to him. Why? What did he ever do to you?”

   “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. Go yell at Brian if you’re all that riled up about it.”

   “So it’s true then? He really is gone?”

   “Yeah.”

   “I see.” There was suddenly a lack of intensity in her tone and Alex pounced on it.

   “Can’t help noticing you don’t seem so mad anymore, Sarah. Clear the path for you, does it?”

    _“You fucking hypocrite,”_   he felt like appending onto the end of that sentence.

   “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

   “Come on, don’t play dumb. By the way, you might want to rethink your technique. The whole in-your-face thing can be a bit of a turn-off sometimes. It smacks of desperation.”

   “What the fuck are you talking about?”

   “What? You think you’re being discreet? Seriously? You’re obvious, you know that? You’re so fucking obvious. So he’s either not interested or too dumb to notice or both. Personally, my money’s on the latter.” He quickly glanced at her. She was staring at him furiously, her eyes wide and lips pouted, arms folded and Alex tried to backpedal in an effort to ameliorate the situation without losing face. “You’re too good for him is all I’m saying.”

   “And why is this any of your business exactly? You’re not my dad.”

   “I just don’t understand what you see in him, that’s all,” he said defensively.

   “What do you see in Amy? She isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. See? Two can play that game, _Alex_.” She spat his name out at him as if it were a insult, turning her head away and looking out of the window.

   A stream of invective coursed through his mind. His grip tightened on the steering wheel, his knuckles turned white and he had an overwhelming urge to punch something. Why had she brought Amy into this? Jesus Christ, talk about a false equivalence. Amy was nothing like Tim.

   “Hey, I’m just saying that throwing yourself at someone like him might not necessarily be the most productive use of your time. Have some dignity, girl.”

   He heard her sighing angrily.

   “Whatever. Turn the car around. I wanna go home.”

   Shit. What the hell was he doing? Why was he even starting a fight with her about Tim in the first place? It wasn’t like she was ever going to see him again. And why did it even matter to him anymore? Maybe he did still care about her a little bit after all. No, she was just bait, remember? No more than a worm on a fishing hook. He no longer had friends. She meant nothing to him. Only Amy mattered now.

   _“Get your shit together, Alex,”_ he ordered himself. _“Just remember what your goal is. Swallow your pride. Eyes on the prize and all that bullshit.”_

   Time to apologize again. It didn’t matter. He didn’t mean it anyway. It was just a means to an end. He was a filmmaker. The camera was rolling. This was just a scene in his movie. He was just acting, playing a role. And so was she. That was how he would think of this. Be _professional_.

   “Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” He playfully punched her in the arm, his face now a visage of avuncular sincerity and remorse. “We’ve known each other for a long time. Guess I’m just a little protective. Just tell me to butt out.”

   “It’s okay. It’s actually kinda sweet. I’m sorry for talking shit about Amy too. She’s a nice girl.”

   “We friends again, then?” He pointedly didn’t make a reciprocal conciliatory statement about Tim, but she didn’t seem to pick up on it.

   “Sure.” She paused for a few moments. “So, if Brian’s gone, what are you gonna do about the movie? Are you gonna re-shoot all his scenes with someone else or something?”

   “No, I don’t have enough time for that if I’m gonna meet the deadline. I think I have enough footage of him to edit something together. The end result won’t quite live up to my ultimate vision, but circumstances have kinda gone beyond my control.”

   “Sorry, Alex. I know how much _Marble Hornets_ means to you.”

   “Yeah, you could say it’s been a life-changing experience.”

   The conversation halted for a while, Alex just keeping his eyes on the road, Sarah occasionally singing along to the songs on the radio – badly out of tune and getting the lyrics wrong – but he deigned to not criticize her for that. After about ten minutes, he heard her cell phone ringing in her bag, the ringtone a muffled, monophonic version of a piece of classical music his mom would probably know the name of. He briefly contemplated whether Sarah knew what it was called, then decided that he didn’t really care.

   “Oh, that’s me,” she said unnecessarily, reaching down into the bag to retrieve it. Alex watched her out of the corner of his eye, switching his attention between her and the road. Once the phone was in her hand, she looked at the small screen and smiled. “It’s just Mom.” She pressed the button to accept the call. “Hi, Mom....No, I won’t be home for dinner, don’t make me any....No, that got canceled, I’m with Alex....Yeah, it’s for his film project....No, I’m gonna be really late. It’s pretty far away, we’re not even there yet.”

   Shit. Now what was he going to do? Now when she failed to return home later, her mother would know that he was the last person she was with. Plus, there were witnesses who had seen them together at the diner. That could cause problems for him. Big problems. Why didn’t he anticipate this before? He could have taken her phone from her and switched it off or thrown it in the trash or something. He had the opportunity in the diner when she went to the restroom and left her bag with him. Well, there was no point in dwelling on what he should have done. He had to think of a solution.

   “No, don’t wait up for me,” she continued. “Just leave the bolt and chain off, I got my key....Okay, I will....Love you too, Mom, bye.”

   Alex heard the beep as she pressed the button to end the call. He looked up at the sky and noticed a few clouds on the horizon. He was seeing signs everywhere now, it was almost as if they were challenging him. He glanced down at his blue windbreaker which was rolled up and stuffed inside the storage compartment in the door, his loaded gun concealed in its pocket.

   “Looks like rain,” he said quietly, more to himself than to Sarah.

    

******

  

   “It looks really old,” Sarah said as she and Alex walked up to the sprawling, dilapidated three-story hospital building that Tim had previously shown him around, guarded by its four gigantic white pillars out front which rose to a void. “I can’t wait to look around.”

   “That’s not the place,” Alex replied sharply, camera in hand, the material of his jacket rustling noisily and the gun in the right-hand pocket constantly knocking against his thigh as he walked. “I’m shooting in the annex building, it’s a little further down there. It’s more modern. Like I told Tim, this place looks nothing like a school. Even if it did, it looks like it’s been abandoned for decades, too long for it to have been Brian’s school. We can check it out later if you like. I want to take advantage of the light for now.”

   “Okay.” They continued walking for a few moments before she turned back to him. “Oh, by the way, did anything happen when you came here with Tim?”

   Alex panicked. Had Tim started to remember? Had he told her something? No, if that was the case, she wouldn’t be there now. She wasn’t stupid.

   “Such as?”

   “Did he get into some kind of accident? It’s just that he thinks he never came here with you. He came round to my house acting all weird with a cut on his head.”

   “Yeah, he did actually. He lost his balance in there and fell down. Must have caught himself on something sharp. I offered to take him to the emergency room, but he was having none of it. Guess there’s just no helping some people.”

   _“Definitely nothing to do with me and a steel pipe or anything like that,”_ he thought wryly.

   Alex had reasoned that That Thing preferred the annex building to the older hospital. His logic was based on the fact that Tim had come back, but Brian hadn’t. It took Tim in the older building, but Brian in the annex. But Seth hadn’t come back either, and he had been taken in the basement of the older building. However, he was choosing to count Seth’s disappearance as an anomaly, partly because he really didn’t want to go back to that basement again.

   He hadn’t really understood why Tim seemed pretty relaxed while in the older building – despite it being dark and dangerous and creepy as hell – but had refused to take him to the annex building, which wasn’t really all that bad, comparatively speaking. Apart from a lot of graffiti and some fire damage, which seemed centered around a particular area of the structure, the rest of it just looked like somewhere that had been forgotten and left to crumble and be taken over by nature for a few years. Alex did find the sounds of random pieces of plaster falling down pretty disturbing though. He internally philosophized the experience as witnessing deterioration in real time. It reminded him of death. A slow, lingering death. But it would have been ideal for filming Brian’s school scene, as if that even mattered anymore. The only purpose _Marble Hornets_ really served now was to act as a fig leaf for his true motives.

   After about a minute, they arrived outside the annex.

   “What kind of place was this anyway?” Sarah asked, peering inside. “Seems impractical for a hospital to be out in the middle of nowhere.”

   “Take a guess.” The invitation was sarcastic, but she seemed to take it seriously, frowning and biting her lip.

   “Don’t know...Um...Convalescent home? Old folks’ home? The big building looks like a sanatorium for one of those diseases from the old days. You know, TB, polio, smallpox, stuff like that. We watched a documentary about it in class once. Am I right?”

   He shook his head.

   “Psychiatric hospital. I looked it up online, it shut in 2002 after a fire. They found a girl’s body nearby on the same night too. Hanging from a tree apparently. Creepy shit, huh? I assume the other building was one of those old insane asylums you hear fucked up stories about. Probably got shut down by the authorities or something.”

   She rolled her eyes and groaned.

   “Spooky abandoned mental hospital, how original.”

   “Hey, it is what it is.”

   She walked through the decaying entrance and turned left.

   “Not that way, go straight ahead,” Alex commanded. “I need to find the same spot I filmed Brian at for continuity purposes.”

   Sarah followed his instructions, tentatively stepping into some of the rooms to investigate as she passed them. It was impossible to be quiet in there. There was debris all over the floor. Alex had noticed it when he brought Brian. The acoustics of the place amplified every sound, at least threefold. Every footstep sounded like glass being smashed, every word spoken as if through a public address system. It was like the place itself was snitching on you for being somewhere you shouldn’t be, like it was cognizant and crying out for some authority figure to come to its rescue and eject the intruders. Maybe that’s all That Thing was. An aggrandized, supernatural security guard. The notion made Alex smile a little, picturing it patrolling the hallways wearing a uniform and carrying a flashlight.

   “What do you think?” he asked.

   She turned around and playfully stuck out her tongue at the camera lens.

   “Yeah, I like it. It’s atmospheric. Echoey, kinda like a church. It’s big, but feels claustrophobic at the same time. You know what I mean? With all the little rooms?”

   “Yeah. Take a left here.”

   They turned off into another long hallway. Alex felt a little more relaxed now – flippant almost – like he was on his home turf, even though he had only been there a few times.

   “How do you remember your way around so well? This place is like a maze and all the hallways look the same.”

   “Well, I’m a very clever boy. My mom told me so.”

   She laughed.

   “And so modest with it too.” She gazed around at the walls as they continued down the hallway. “Thought there’d be more graffiti, to be honest.”

   “If we went the other way at the start, it’s full of it. This section’s pretty clean, that’s why I wanna film here.”

   “By the way, I don’t have any lines in this scene, do I? Because I can’t remember them if I do.”

   “No, you’re good. I had the idea of making Brian have a kind of flashback of you, putting crowd noise over it and then there’d be a jump cut and you’re just standing next to him. Seth can put it all together in post-production. When he gets back.” He almost started to believe that he was still making his movie for a moment, rather than just reeling off lines of bullshit. Seth was gone. “So, all you need to do is stand there by the door and lean back against the wall. Smile a little.”

   Why had he told her to smile? Maybe he just wanted to see it one last time and get it on tape. A souvenir of sorts. He looked at her through the viewfinder, and he started to feel anxious again.

   “Oh, hold on a second.” She took her backpack off her back and placed it down on the floor next to her. “Sorry.”

   _“Come on,”_   he pleaded with it. _“Come on, I made it real easy for you. I got her in the same place as Brian. Let’s get this over with.”_  

   “Do I look okay?” She turned to him and smiled.

   “Yeah, great.” He zoomed in on her face. “Just look straight ahead of you and hold it there.”

   All right, where was it? Was it fucking with him? Or maybe he was just getting impatient.

   Then he heard music. Where was that coming from? Goddammit, it was her fucking phone again.

   “Oh, that’s me,” she announced, bending down to get the phone from her bag as he stood there silently fuming. “Sorry about this, Alex.”

   He watched her as she looked at the display on the phone, expecting her to smile again and say it was her mom. But she didn’t smile this time. She frowned and looked puzzled.

   “It’s Brian,” she said with confusion in her voice.

   As soon as she said those words, he panicked. He put the camera in his left hand and thrust his right into his jacket pocket, grabbing the gun and aiming it at her head.

   “Don’t answer it.”

   Sarah’s eyes widened and she laughed a little nervously as the relaxing melody of her ringtone continued to play in the background, providing a somewhat inappropriate soundtrack to the situation. He gently put the camera on the ground, constantly keeping the gun trained on her.

   “Give me that.” He snatched the phone out of her hand and put it in his pocket.

   “Alex, what the fuck are you doing? Is that thing real?” Her hands started to shake a little. “You’re just screwing around, right? It’s just a prop for the movie, right? Is it one of those novelty cigarette lighters?”

   Disorganized thoughts and questions raced through Alex’s head. He felt betrayed. Brian was back? What was going on? First Tim, now Brian. Would Seth come back too? Would Sarah come back? Was this all a waste of time? Was he just creating enemies for the future? But Tim didn’t remember. Maybe Brian didn’t remember either. Maybe none of them would remember. But Tim saw it in Brian’s house and lied about it. Alex knew, he had watched that tape. So would it stay with them forever? But why did Tim deny seeing it? And why had his reaction been so muted? Yes, he looked scared for a few seconds, but he didn’t scream, didn’t run away, didn't ask what the fuck that thing standing in the corner was.

   Something didn’t make sense. It protected Tim. Did it like Tim more than Alex? Was it bored with Alex? Was it with Tim now? Is that why it wasn’t coming for Sarah? Why was it taking so long? Its arrival was prompt for the others. Could it be because she was female? Were women somehow immune to it? Should he let Sarah go and take the risk? Say the gun was just a prop? Tell her he was sorry, that it was just a joke in poor taste? Go home and pack a suitcase, then drive over to Amy’s place in the morning?

   Amy...

   He loved Amy. But there was still Jay to deal with yet. If he left without completing the task he had been assigned by it, he may anger it. It might follow him to Amy. He couldn’t lose her. He needed her. He had to protect her. He wasn’t about to risk Amy for Sarah’s sake. No way. No fucking way. He needed to focus and take control.

   The phone went silent.

   Then he felt relief, like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders. No more pretense, no more phony geniality. True colors laid bare, no-holds-barred ruthlessness unleashed.

   This was it. This was the point of no return.

   Head down, eyes up.

    _“Time to show your teeth, Alex."_

   “Alex, what’s going on with you? Why are you being like this?”

   “Wanna see if it’s real?” He aimed the gun to the right of her head and fired. A deafening roar resounded throughout the building as the bullet flew past her left ear. She screamed and closed her eyes, starting to cry. She opened her eyes one at a time, as if unsure of whether she was dead or alive.

   “Please don’t hurt me.”

   “Shut up.”

   “Tell me what this is all about, Alex. You’re not a bad person, I know you’re not. You’re just having some problems. Maybe I can help you. Are you in some kind of trouble? Is it money? Do you need money?” She paused and looked down at herself, now avoiding eye contact. “Or do you want something else from me?”

   Her words enraged him, and his right eye twitched a little. He felt offended that she thought his motives so shallow and base. What did she think he was? A rapist? A thief? A common criminal? Did she consider him so weak and pathetic and inadequate? He had _standards_ , for fuck’s sake.

   “I said shut up!” He took a step closer to her and pressed the gun against her forehead. “You think you’re so superior, don’t you? With your perfect little life and your perfect little family. You just want to help everyone and poke your nose where it isn’t wanted because it makes you feel good about yourself. You think it makes you altruistic, but it doesn’t. It makes you arrogant. Because you think you got all the answers and you don’t. It’s moral vanity, that’s all it is, and it’s hollow as fuck. You’re just naive and sanctimonious. You know _nothing_. But don’t worry, you’ll learn. Because I got news for you. Karma is a myth. Humans are selfish, the world’s brutal and life isn’t fair. Bad things happen to good people, good people do bad things and the end always justifies the means. That’s just the way shit works.”

   He started to gaze around towards where the ceiling met the walls. Where was it? Where the fuck was it?

   The sound of her crying was really getting on his nerves and he considered knocking her out, like he had done with Tim. Could just grab her hair and smash her head against the wall. That’d shut her up.

   “Are you gonna kill me? Please don’t kill me. I’m sorry. Whatever I did wrong, I’m sorry. I don’t want to die. I want to go home. I want to– ”

   “Quiet!” he hissed, and she went silent, save for a few involuntary sniffles.

   She squeezed her eyes shut and tensed up, like she was just waiting for him to pull the trigger. He looked at her for a few moments. Her face was wet with the tears that had caused her eye makeup to form black rivulets that ran all the way down to her jawline, strands of her hair were stuck to her cheeks, and her skin was all red and blotchy. She looked disgusting. Not like Amy. Amy was beautiful. He internally pleaded with That Thing to hurry up and take her and get her out of his sight. He didn’t want to look at her anymore. He wanted to look at Amy. Why was it prolonging his suffering this way? He was trying to do right by it, after all. Why was it punishing him?

   Then her phone suddenly emitted another sound, two double beeps in quick succession. She opened her eyes and looked at him.

   Alex retrieved the phone from his pocket and looked at the screen. There was a text message from Brian. He opened it and read it, periodically glancing up at Sarah.

    

 **tim forgot. hes** **with me. sorry.** **stay away from** **alex. b.**

    

   Alex suddenly burst out laughing.

   “Check that shit out.” He turned the phone around and held it out for a few seconds to show Sarah before putting it back in his pocket. She didn’t seem to react, apart from a slight flaring of her nostrils. “Hate to say I told you so, but I told you so.”

   He eventually stopped laughing and smiled triumphantly at her, the realization of the power he had dawning on him, the sensation of the total control he exerted surpassing any orgasm. This was amazing, he felt like like a god. Brimming with virility and adrenaline and the juvenile delusion of immortality. Maybe it wasn’t punishing him after all, maybe it was rewarding him by allowing him to savor the moment. Maybe it was sharing its spoils with him, giving him the opportunity to “get a piece of the action”, as it were – not that Alex would ever verbalize such a crude expression. That would be beneath him, he wasn’t some fucking neanderthal shithead. But yes, that had to be it. He was faithful, he was true to his word, he was doing its bidding. Why would he be penalized for that?

   But through the fog of euphoria, something started to nag at him and the ecstatic, somewhat deranged smile faded from his face. He went over the words of the text message in his mind again and his glee suddenly turned to fear.

    _Stay away from Alex._

   Brian remembered. Brian was with Tim. Brian would tell Tim everything. Shit. This was bad. He was a dead man if they ever caught up with him. Whatever, he would cross that bridge when he came to it. For now, he needed to focus on the matter at hand. His eyes darted around the desolate hallway. He needed to get this done and get out of here. He had things to do, plans to prepare. He was in danger now. Could he count on it to protect him? He didn’t know.

   “Where are you?” he said aloud. “Where the fuck are you?!”

   “I’m right here, Alex. Can’t you see me?” Sarah said nervously. She sounded almost hopeful, like she thought she could talk him around somehow.

   “Shut the fuck up, I wasn’t talking to you.”

   “You’re sick, Alex, you need help.”

   He rushed forward so his body was flush against hers and he rapidly switched the barrel of the gun from her forehead to her left temple.

   “I said shut up! I don’t give a fuck what you think!”

   He pressed the gun harder against her head with every vicious word he spoke. He glared at her, eyeball to eyeball, until he suddenly felt her move and looked down just in time to see her bring her knee up and slam it hard into his groin. He felt a sickening agony and doubled over as she shoved him away from her, causing him to lose his balance and topple over to the ground before dodging his grasp and sprinting down the hallway. He remained stunned in the fetal position for about a second, his mouth open and eyes tightly closed.

   “You fucking bitch!” he screamed, clutching his stomach with tears streaming down his face. “I’ll fucking kill you!”

   Ignoring the excruciating pain in his gut, he forced himself up to his knees and raised the gun in the direction of her rapidly departing figure. Fuck the rules. He pulled the trigger and another ear-splitting shot rang out. She screamed and stopped running, putting her hand up to the right side of her face. Did he actually get lucky and hit her?

   He scrambled to his feet and pounded after her, and she took off again. She turned right, into another hallway, and as he approached the spot she was in when he fired the gun, he looked down and saw gleaming red drops of blood on the floor. He laughed a little and started to follow the trail. He turned into the other hallway, eyes fixed on the floor. The blood drops continued down the hallway and then diverted into the third room on the left. He had her now. She was trapped.

   “Give it up, Sarah,” he said menacingly.

   He walked into the room and turned to her. She was huddled in the corner staring up at him and breathing heavily. She was bleeding profusely from a deep, approximately four-inch long and half-inch wide laceration which spanned from just beneath her ear to her cheekbone. He must have grazed her with the bullet. She suddenly got up and tried to run past him again, but he grabbed her arm and shoved her roughly back against the wall.

   “Oh no, you don’t.”

   He twisted the gun around in his hand so he was holding the barrel before swinging it backhanded and smacking her hard across the face with the grip. He raised the gun again and this time landed a blow against her temple. Her head twisted to the side and she collapsed, unconscious before she hit the ground, broken pieces of plaster crunching beneath her weight, head landing with a thud.

   “You made me do that,” Alex said, kneeling down beside her.

   He sat back for a few seconds to catch his breath. He closed his eyes and winced at the ache in his stomach. His head was starting to hurt now too. Was it here? Finally? He quickly stuffed his hands into her jeans pockets, rolling her onto her side to check the back ones, but they were all empty. Her key must be in her bag.

   Then Sarah’s eyes fluttered open and she screamed, staring past Alex towards the ceiling. Alex looked behind him and smiled. There it was. He stood up and backed away from her, leaning against the wall and switching his eyes between her and it.

   “No!” she cried. “No! It was just a dream! He said it was just a dream!”

   What? What the hell was she talking about? But he figured she was just delirious and shrugged it off.

   Then it took her and Alex was left alone.

   Sarah was gone.

   He breathed a sigh of relief. He walked out of the room and back to where his camera and Sarah’s bag lay in the hallway. He took her phone out of his pocket and deleted the message from Brian before switching it off and dropping it into the bag. He picked up both items, putting the bag on his back and turning the camera around so that the lens was facing him.

   “Took your sweet time,” he said to it.

   Then he walked out of the hospital and headed back to his car.

    

******

 

   It was 11:16 pm. Alex sat in his car across the street from Sarah’s house. All the lights were out. He held Sarah’s key in his hand. There was a key chain attached to it with a small red love heart which was embossed with a gold letter S.

   He tossed the keys up in the air a few times and caught them again. His shoulders felt stiff and his back ached from all the driving he had done, but he was glad of it. The discomfort was distracting his mind from what he was going to do.

   He had been inside that house lots of times. Sitting on the sofa watching TV with Sarah and Seth. Eating the food that her mom had cooked for them. Politely laughing at her dad’s bad jokes. He really didn’t want to do this. This wasn’t a part of the game. This was pure self-preservation.

   He hadn’t yet decided whether to put Sarah’s bag back in her bedroom or dump it in the river along with her keys. Burn it, maybe. No, he would put it back. Then it would look like whoever had killed her parents had abducted her straight from the house.

   He took his camera from the passenger seat, inserting a fresh battery and tape and setting it to night-vision mode.

   Alex got out of the car and put Sarah's bag over one shoulder. He walked over to the house, the gun in his jeans pocket, camera in one hand, Sarah’s key in the other, the love heart on a chain dangling down from between his fingers.

   When he reached the garden gate, he stood there and just stared up at the house for a few moments, breathing deeply. He felt sick. But he knew that this was what he had to do. Every repugnant, violent, reprehensible act he committed bringing him one step closer to Amy. And she would make everything better again. She was his prize, his goddess, his salvation.

   There could be no more loose ends. It was them or him. They were collateral damage, it was as simple as that. After he was through with this, there was only Jay. Then it was game over and he could leave town.

   He opened the gate, walked up the garden path, inserted the key in the lock and went inside the house. He quietly closed the door behind him and headed up the stairs.

   For Amy.

   No guilt. No mercy. No regrets.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from totheark Messages  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VK-JaLhFIM
> 
> Apologies for the terrible proofreading job I did in the last chapter. Hopefully there are fewer errors in this one.
> 
> Thank you very much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it.


	21. I Can See Clearly Now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tim is released from the hospital and reluctantly goes back to Rosswood.

 

    

    

    _“As far as I remember, even by student film standards, it wasn't particularly good.”_

 

_August 26 th 2014_

 

    

   “You ready?” Tim’s doctor asked him as he zipped up his now much fuller duffel bag, which was almost bursting with garish T-shirts he didn’t like.

   “Yeah.” He lifted the bag from the bed and put it over his shoulder before picking up the large envelope Kayla had brought and holding it in his hand. “Let’s go.”

   “You sure you got everything?”

   “Yes. I’m used to moving around from place to place. I know how to pack a bag.”

   “Okay. What about those?” The doctor pointed to the handful of paperback books that had been left on the dresser.

   “I already read them. I thought I’d leave ‘em here for someone else to read. There isn’t exactly a whole lot to do in these places. You don’t mind, do you?”

   Fortunately, his doctor’s grasp of his taste in literature was more accurate than that of his taste in clothes.

   “No, that’s a nice idea. I’ll go give them to someone, they probably have a little library in here somewhere. I’ll be back in a minute.”

   Tim nodded and sat down on the bed as his doctor gathered up the books and walked out of the room. Even though he was happy to be getting out of the hospital, he really didn’t want to go back to Rosswood. But he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice. As usual. He was only being discharged so early because he had agreed to stay at his doctor’s house. He could have taken his chances and refused, but that would have involved the possibility of pissing off the one person who genuinely cared about him and making life harder for himself in the long run, so he decided to play it safe. Getting out was his priority. Acquiescence was the name of the game.

   He opened the envelope and took out the photograph of Lucie and himself. He looked at it. He still didn’t remember her and had stopped trying a few days after reading the letters. It wasn’t like there was much else he could do about it while he was in the hospital anyway. He had never been superstitious, but maybe it was a sign that taking that particular trip down memory lane was something that he really should be cautious of. Would the payoff be worth opening up the Pandora’s box of his own past for?

   When all was said and done, this friendship had ultimately culminated in her death and his near death in a situation that was seemingly initiated by himself. He doubted that the two incidents were completely independent of each other given the timing, but there had been no indication of any kind of premeditated suicide pact in that final letter. And why would there be? From what he did remember about that period of his life, he wasn’t particularly unhappy, let alone suicidal. He didn’t mind being in the hospital back then. He had been in there for so long that he had almost forgotten what life was like on the outside and he wasn’t exactly desperate to return to it. The only thing he really missed was his mom, but by that time he had long gotten used to her not being around. That was why what he did came as such a shock to everyone, including himself.

   And while he did sometimes have a self-destructive streak, it had always been of an impulsive nature, a reaction to events, and he found it difficult to believe that his fifteen-year-old self would purposefully and knowingly take someone else down with him, even if that person was a willing participant. Or maybe it was all her idea and she had talked him into it? Maybe she wasn’t as sweet and innocent as she appeared on the surface after all.

   But even in the unlikely event that he and Lucie had planned to die together, why weren’t they found next to each other and at the same time? Why hours apart? It just didn’t make sense. None of it made sense, so what was the point? But at least he could now look Kayla in the eye and honestly tell her he’d tried.

   The sound of the door opening and his doctor’s voice interrupted his thoughts and he hurriedly put the photograph away in the envelope.

   “Come on then, Timothy, let’s go home.”

   Tim stood up and walked towards the door. He took a quick glance at the room before leaving and closed the door behind him.

    

******

 

   “Can we go get my car and I’ll follow you back to Rosswood?” Tim asked as he sat in the passenger seat of his doctor’s car in the recurring scenario of being driven away from a hospital and watching the building shrink into the distance through the rear window. “The motel must be somewhere close by if they brought me here from there. It’ll save on gas.”

   “No. I don’t want you driving yet.”

   “Why not?”

   “Because I’m responsible for you. That was the condition of your release, you know this. If you pull another stupid stunt, it’s my ass. I don’t plan on retiring just yet, thank you very much. And as soon as you get your car back, I won’t see you for dust. Until the next time you need me for something, of course. I know you, Timothy, I can read you like a goddamn book.”

   “Fine, I’ll get someone else to take me to the motel then.”

   “Good luck with that.” The doctor gestured towards the ignition and Tim glanced over and saw his own car key dangling from the key ring.

   “You’re confiscating my car? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not a kid, I’m twenty-seven years old!”

   “Yeah, a twenty-seven-year-old who just got out of the hospital and who’d still be in there if it wasn’t for me. What’s the matter, huh? You missing it already? You want me to take you back?”

   Tim pouted and narrowed his eyes at his doctor’s profile, his relief at being out of the hospital being replaced by resentment at being infantilized and not trusted.

   “You really got me by the balls, don’t you?” he said bitterly.

   “Pretty much.” He paused for a few moments. “Look, I’m not doing it to punish you. You’re taking more meds now and you’re not used to it yet. What if something happens and you wind up wrapping your car around a tree or something?”

   Tim decided to disregard the logical explanation and continue to be offended.

   “But it’s not fair. I’m a really careful driver. I know if something’s gonna happen, I can feel it coming on and I pull over.”

   “Did you honestly think you could just pick up from where you left off after all that? Carry on as before? How did that work out for you, huh? Just because you’re feeling better now doesn’t mean you can erase what happened from history. Actions have consequences.”

   “I know that!” Tim yelled. “Don’t patronize me, I’m not a child.”

   “Stop acting like one then!” the doctor yelled back. “You nearly died a month ago. Or have you forgotten about that already?”

   He didn’t really have an answer to that so he just stayed quiet, repeatedly pushing his hair behind his ears to stop it from falling into his eyes.

   “This sucks. Am I grounded too? Am I on a curfew?”

   “No, but you will be if you don’t quit whining about it.”

   Tim tutted and sighed noisily.

   “ _Fucking_ great...” he muttered under his breath.

   The doctor cupped a hand around his ear and leaned towards Tim.

   “Excuse me? What was that?”

   “Nothing.”

   “Look, it’s only temporary. What’s the hurry anyway? You got some place you need to be?”

   Tim wasn’t sure whether or not the question was sarcastic, but he answered it anyway.

   “No. Just sick of being told what to do, that’s all.”

   “Let’s just have a smoke and calm down, okay? There’s a pack in there.” He pointed towards the glove compartment. “Light one up for me, will you?”

   Tim did as he was instructed, shoving the empty potato chip bags and gas station receipts which had spilled out as soon as he opened the latch back inside. He passed the first cigarette to his doctor and smoked the second one himself before lowering the passenger side window halfway down.

   “I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal out of this,” the doctor said, placing the cigarette between his lips and holding it there. “You stayed with me before, not having your car didn’t bother you then.”

   “Yes, because I couldn’t even walk. You are a doctor, right? It’s kinda hard to hold down the gas pedal when your right leg’s been smashed to pieces with a block of cement. Oh, shit!”

   Tim clapped his hand over his mouth. His big, stupid mouth.

   “A block of cement?! So that’s what happened, is it? Who was it?”

   Fuck it. He wasn’t about to keep on lying for the sake of protecting Alex’s good name. He did, however, decide to omit Jay’s involvement and the fact that he was running around wearing a mask and carrying a knife from his account of the events.

   “If you must know, it was a guy called Alex Kralie. I got into a fight with him. He overpowered me, tied me up and dropped a cement block on my leg. That’s what happened.”

   “Alex Kralie? That name rings a bell...”

   “He was a film student. I was in his movie.”

   “Oh, yeah, I remember you telling me about that at the time.” He nodded as the realization dawned. “Did it turn out good?”

   “That’s kinda beside the point, he broke my fucking leg.”

   “Wait, so you remembered all along?"

   “No.” Tim huffed impatiently. He really wasn’t in the mood for having this discussion but he couldn’t be bothered making up a lie. He wasn’t even sure what kind of lie he could make up to wriggle out of telling the truth anyway. “I still don’t remember. I only know because the whole thing got filmed and posted on the internet.”

   The doctor briefly turned to him and frowned, the cigarette in his mouth bouncing up and down as he spoke.

   “Someone filmed it?” He seemed more outraged by this fact than the act of violence itself. “What in the hell kind of shit were you and your buddies involved in back then?”

   “Don’t ask, all right? Just don’t fucking ask.”

   “Fine. Boys’ll be boys, I guess. At least in my day we were smart enough to not broadcast it to the world when we were getting up to no good.”

   Tim rolled his eyes and turned away, relieved that he hadn’t been asked to elaborate further. He had been out of the hospital for less than twenty minutes and he was already pissed off. The last thing he needed was to have to relay and simultaneously censor the story of Jay’s quest to find Alex and everything that accompanied it. Fuck that. But his relief was short-lived.

   “Oh, that reminds me. Whatever happened to that boy Brian you were always talking about?”

   “What?”

   Tim didn’t like thinking about Brian anymore. It hurt too much. Brian was the wound that would never heal, like the bones in his right leg. He was Tim’s invisible scar. One caused not by jamming a blade into his flesh or a falling cement block, but by memories seared into his mind. Of the face he once took such comfort at the sight of twisted into an expression of revulsion and fury and spite, of the hands that once held his own and gave him such solace when he needed it delivering blow after undefended blow to his face, of the voice that once spoke so soothingly venomously telling him how much he hated him and calling him a fucking liar. Of his lifeless body lying on the floor of Benedict Hall, a stolen bottle of Tim’s pills and the _Marble Hornets_ audition tape in his jeans pocket.

   By the end, Tim was sure that Brian hated him much more than he hated Alex. While Brian felt anger and bitterness towards Alex, he felt betrayed and hurt by Tim. A traitor was always despised more than an enemy.

   “What’s the matter? Did he have something to do with you getting hurt?” the doctor suddenly said.

   “No.”

   “You sure?”

   “Yes, I’m sure. He was my best friend. He was an amazing person, he did a lot for me. But he had a really bad experience and it changed him. He was never the same again. We kinda drifted apart after that.”

   Tim was still reluctant to verbally state the fact that Brian was dead, even though he knew it was true. He liked to fantasize that maybe he was still out there somewhere, that it was all a case of mistaken identity and he would just show up one day and tell him that everything was okay, that he forgave him and that they could just go back to being best friends and doing normal stuff. Like they used to do before Brian decided it might be kinda fun to star in his buddy Alex’s movie.

   “I’m sorry,” the doctor said. “What happened to him?”

   Tim took a long drag of his cigarette and looked out at the row of tall dense trees at the side of the road.

   “Me.”

   “What?”

   “Nothing. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Can we change the subject?”

   “Okay.” The doctor paused for a few moments, clearing his throat before continuing in a forcedly upbeat tone. “Hey, are you hungry? Shall we stop by somewhere and get something to eat?”

   “No. Just take me home.”

   Tim rolled back his left shirt sleeve and inspected the three now scabbed-over lines bordered in an angry red on his forearm. It didn’t really hurt anymore, but it was itchy and getting on his nerves. It looked such a mess.

   _“And you wonder why he doesn’t trust you,”_ he thought to himself, redirecting his anger towards himself.

   “Fucking idiot,” he inadvertently said aloud, drawing his doctor’s attention.

   He felt a hand rubbing his hair and looked up to see his doctor smiling at him.

   “Hey, don’t worry about that, kid. Maybe think about getting a tattoo over it once it’s all healed up, huh? Stop you being so self-conscious. I know a guy, he’s really good.”

   “That why you got yours? To hide your scars?”

   “No. I got mine because I wanted to.”

   “Did it hurt?”

   “Not as much as the beatings my old man gave me for doing it in the first place.” He twisted his right arm around to show a blurry blue-outlined tattoo of a topless mermaid with large breasts. “Got my goddamn tooth knocked out for that one.”

   Tim grinned, surprised he had never noticed what it was before.

   “Why did you keep getting more if you knew you were gonna get your ass kicked?”

   “Well, I wasn’t about to back down. You don’t give in to a bully, Timothy. Anyone who tells you otherwise is full of shit.”

   “A bully? You mean like someone who takes a sick person’s car keys from their hospital room? Those kinds of bullies?”

   The doctor laughed.

   “I’ll give you that one. By the way, I had your license out of your wallet too.”

   “You son of a bitch,” Tim said, but laughed too.

   Maybe spending some time back in Rosswood wouldn’t be too bad after all. It would have been nice to have the choice, but what would he do if he got his car back anyway? Go to another motel? Spend too much time alone and get sick again? Rinse and repeat. If he was honest with himself, he knew that he wasn’t really doing all that well even before everything that had happened with Sarah and Kayla. Maybe that event had merely acted as the catalyst to an inevitable relapse. And he did feel a lot better than before. It was amazing what an increased dosage of antipsychotics could do. Maybe it could all have been avoided if he’d just been honest with his doctor when the voices started again. After he lost Jay...

   He cut the thought off before it had chance to fester. He was trying to move on. He was always trying to move on, but he wasn’t quite sure of how to do it. But continuing to dwell on the past wasn’t something he particularly wanted to do. So he decided to try to be positive and make the best of the situation. After all, there was at least one other place he wanted to visit in Rosswood.

   “I changed my mind, I am hungry,” Tim said. “Can we go get something to eat?”

   “Sure.”

   “Thank you.”

******

_August 27 th 2014_

 

 

   Tim knocked on the door of number 116 and waited. The house seemed larger than the other modest two-story dwellings that lined the street, and it was more set back from the road. It looked run-down and untidy, like its upkeep had been neglected for a while. Kayla’s blue car was parked on the driveway, which was on the opposite side of the path from the overgrown lawn.

   It was about a mile and a half away from his doctor’s house and he felt a little out of breath, seeing as he hadn’t had any exercise to speak of for about a month. His doctor had told him to just take it easy and stay home for a few days, but he wasn’t about to go from being involuntarily confined to one place only to shut himself inside another, car or no car.

   “Okay, but stick to the streets,” his doctor had instructed him before he left for work. “Then if you need any help, someone’s more likely to notice you. Don’t be going to you-know-where.”

   “What, the park? Trust me, the thought didn’t even cross my mind. I’m just going to an old friend’s house.”

   The thought had crossed his mind, of course it had. Ever since they had driven past it on the way back into town, and his eyes locked onto it. No matter how many bad experiences he had had in that place, the draw of it would always be there for him. Like a recovering addict always tempted with one more hit of their drug of choice. But it was the sense of loss that cut through. Rosswood Park used to be his sanctuary, a place he used to love, a place of innocence and happiness, and it was like it had been sullied and perverted by death and suffering. He felt like That Thing had invaded it and transformed it into something sinister.

   His train of thought was interrupted by the door opening. Kayla stood there smiling at him, her hair was wet and she was wearing a short red satin bathrobe which left little to the imagination. He blushed a little as his mind suddenly questioned whether she had anything on underneath.

   “Tim, it’s so good to see you! When did they let you out?!”

   “Yesterday. I’m a free man. Kind of.”

   “Come here, you!”

   She pulled him towards her and wrapped her arms around him, kissing him on the cheek while he traced his fingers along her shoulder, enjoying the warm feeling of her body beneath the smooth material and the scent of coconut in her hair. He smiled and flinched as her hand suddenly clamped onto his left buttock and squeezed it.

   “Do you mind?” he said, grinning as she laughed. “I just got out of the hospital, I’m kinda fragile.”

   “How are you?”

   He moved back and put his hand against his chest.

   “Fucked. I walked all the way here. You?”

   “I’m good. This is such a nice surprise!”

   “Well, you did leave me a bunch of envelopes with your address on them the last time I saw you, so I figured you wouldn’t mind me dropping by.”

   “Course not. Come on in, I’ll make us some coffee.”

   He followed her into the house. In contrast to the shabby exterior, it was actually very neat and tidy inside. The decor was somewhat dated though – the walls were clad with wood paneling and almost everything seemed to be various shades of brown. The carpet and the drapes were a matching dark brown. A tan-colored leather sofa was against the left wall with a coffee table in front of it, and Kayla gestured for him to sit down, while she sat at the two-seater table in the opposite corner of the room and crossed her legs. He put the backpack he was carrying down on the floor before sitting down and smiling at her. With her blonde hair and deep red robe, she looked very out of place in the dreary room. It seemed more like it was his house and she was the visitor rather than the other way around.

   “How come you walked here? Where’s your car?”

   “I’ve been a bad boy so my driving privileges got revoked,” he explained. “I wouldn’t usually show up uninvited like this, but my doctor’s at work and I’m bored, so you get to be my playmate for today.”

   “Lucky me.” She smiled and winked at him. “I’m sure we can think of something to do to keep ourselves occupied.”

   He snickered a little and looked up at her.

   “I missed you, you know. You make me laugh. I kinda hoped you’d come visit me again.”

   She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and the smile fell from her face.

   “It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just that I thought it might make you feel awkward if I did. I didn’t want to do anything to make you sick again. I did enough damage in that department, right?”

   He instantly shook his head, eager to reassure her.

   “You didn’t make me that way, you just brought it to the surface. If it hadn’t been you, it’d have been something else. Just not wired up right, I guess. Never have been.”

   “Don’t say that.”

   “Why not? It’s true.” She bit her lip and looked down. Realizing he had made her feel even more awkward, he tried to make light of the situation. “Hey, don’t worry about it. I’ve been officially crazy for nearly twenty years now. I’m kinda used to it.”

   “If you say so,” she said, smiling. “Didn’t anyone else visit you?”

   “Just my doctor. By the way, I never want to see another fucking playing card as long as I live. And I still suck at poker.”

   “I like poker. I’m pretty good too.”

   “Really? I’ll let him know. Maybe you two can hook up.”

   “Yeah, my dad taught me. It was just the two of us for a long time.” She lowered her eyes before adding quietly. “Now it’s just me.”

   “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sure he was a real nice guy.”

   She nodded and smiled.

   “How’s your arm?”

   “Itchy. Looks gross too. Wanna see?” He held it out to show her and she grimaced a little. “My doctor recommends getting a tattoo.”

   “Are you gonna?” She sounded amused.

   “Don’t know yet. Haven’t really thought about it. It’ll be a long time before it heals up properly anyway.”

   She looked at him, an inquisitive expression on her face.

   “You seem a lot different to how you were in the hospital,” she said. “And the motel actually.”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Just more relaxed and a little less serious. It’s nice. You seem...happy.”

   “Well, I am heavily medicated, even by my standards.”

   “You feeling better then?”

   He nodded and smiled.

   “Things are a lot quieter now.”

   “Good. You deserve it.”

   “Oh, I brought this back for you.” He reached down into his bag and brought out the large envelope with the letters and photographs inside before putting it down on the table. “I tried but I don’t remember anything. I’m sorry. I asked my doctor about it. Long story short, Lucie’s letters to me are gone. They all burned up in the hospital fire. But he remembers her, he said she was a really nice kid.”

   She nodded and looked down, an expression of disappointment spreading across her face.

   “Yeah, she was. I loved her.” Her voice cracked a little and she sniffed and Tim thought she was going to cry, but she quickly smiled and regained her composure. “Thanks for trying. I appreciate it. You didn’t have to do that, especially not after everything that happened. Like you said, you don’t owe me anything.”

   He shrugged.

   “It’s okay. I honestly don’t know why I’ve blanked her out or what was going on with her towards the end. I wish I did. I mean, it affects me too, right? But whatever happened that night, I really don’t think I would have hurt her or done anything to make her want to hurt herself. Don’t get me wrong, I was no angel back then. I had a bit of a temper and lashed out at the people around me. Pretty badly sometimes too. But I was never...malicious or mean or anything.” Tim paused to gather his thoughts, realizing he wasn’t making his point very well. “What I’m saying is, I wouldn’t have lured her out there with the intention of doing anything bad, I’m certain of that. I never meant any harm.”

   He never meant any harm, but someone got hurt. It was the story of his fucking life.

   “I know. I meant what I said at the motel. I never thought you did anything to her.” She sighed. “Guess I’ll just have to live with the fact that I’m never gonna find out.”

   The sight of her looking despondent made him wish there was something else he could do, even though he wasn’t sure of what that was. He mulled it over for a few seconds. Then he remembered the wallet. He stood up and pulled it out of the back pocket of his jeans and held it out to her.

   “Oh, I nearly forgot. She bought me this.” She took it from him and looked down at it. “This was the present she got me for my fifteenth birthday. I’ve had it with me since I was eighteen. It’s a good job she bought good shit or else that would have gone up in smoke too.”

   She looked up at him and smiled.

   “You still have it after all this time?”

   He nodded.

   “It’s served me well over the years.” He watched as she traced her finger over the it for a few seconds before handing it back to him. “I was happy when I found out it was from her.”

   “I’m glad you feel that way. She was a good girl.”

   “I was thinking, maybe I could see her room?” he said. “I mean, she was always bringing me stuff, right? Maybe something in there’ll make me remember.”

   “There’s no point, it’s empty. My dad got rid of most of her stuff a few days after she died. He just saved a handful of things and kept them in a box in his room. I’d already found her photos and the letters by then.”

   “Why did he do that? Seems a little hasty.”

   She shrugged.

   “He was a pretty traditional guy, he didn’t like to talk about his feelings. She was his little girl. He didn’t handle her death very well, he just wanted to forget and bury his head in the sand. He didn’t even want me to track you down, that’s why I waited till after he died.”

   “What did he keep then?”

   “It’s all upstairs. You can take a look through it later, if you like. Don’t feel like you have to just for my sake though.”

   “No, it’s fine. I’m kinda curious myself, to be honest.” He laughed a little nervously and suddenly noticed an ashtray on the table in front him. “Is it okay if I smoke in here?”

   “Sure.” She took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her robe and tossed it towards him, applauding as he caught it. “Have one of mine for a change. I’ll go get us that coffee.”

   “Thanks.”

   She left the room. He took a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. His eyes traced across the walls. Among the various prints of sports cars and motorcycles, he noticed that there was an enlarged and framed copy of the photograph of Kayla and Lucie that he had been shown. For some reason, it made him feel uncomfortable. Like he was being watched. He averted his eyes from it and just continued to smoke while he waited for Kayla to come back.

   After a few minutes, she brought the two cups of coffee back and gave one to him.

   “Thank you,” he said as he accepted the coffee and stubbed his cigarette out.

   She sat down next to him and pointed at his cup.

   “I didn’t put sugar in because you didn’t put any in at the diner. That okay?”

   “Yeah.” He took a sip from it, trying to push the memory of the last time she had given him something to drink from his mind. “It’s really nice. My doctor sucks at making coffee. So do I. But this is really good.”

   She laughed slightly and then frowned.

   “Do you mind if I ask you a question?”

   He shook his head.

   “What’s the deal with you and your doctor?”

   “What do you mean?”

   “Well, doctors don’t usually have their patients stay at their house, or buy them clothes, or make them coffee.”

   “You make it sound all weird when you say it like that,” Tim replied, a little defensively.

   “No, I just mean are you related or something?”

   “No, we’re not related. Not by blood. He’s my doctor.”

   “But why does he do all that for you?”

   Tim shrugged.

   “Never really thought about it. He’s just always been in my life. I’ve always been kinda sickly. My mom never really liked me all that much and I think he felt sorry for me. He never got married or had kids of his own and I make a good pet charity case, I guess.”

   “He sounds like a good man.”

   “Yeah, he is. We piss each other off sometimes, but I know he cares about me. I guess I take him for granted.”

   “What’s his name?”

   Tim had to think for a moment because he never actually used it.

   “Francis. But everyone calls him Frankie. Except me, I just call him my doctor.”

   “Wait, Frankie? Does he have a mustache and tattoos? Kinda chubby?”

   “Yeah. You know him?”

   “Kind of.” She slowly nodded her head. “He knew my dad. He came to the funeral.”

   “Really? He never said anything to me about it.”

   “They weren’t super close or anything. They just went to the same bar, I think. They played cards and drank together sometimes.”

   Even though Tim was previously unaware of the fact, he wasn’t altogether surprised. His doctor seemed to know most people in Rosswood. That was why he didn’t like going anywhere in town with him. Everything took about three times as long as it should because he kept stopping to talk to people every five minutes. It would have been more unusual if they hadn’t known each other. But the subject did remind him of something he was curious about.

   “There’s something I wanted to ask you about Lucie. Is that okay?”

   “Yeah. Go ahead.”

   “Was she sick?”

   “Sick how?”

   “Like me. Maybe not as bad as me, but the same kind of thing. I mean, did your dad take her to see a shrink or anything?”

   “No, there was nothing like that. She was just really quiet. She didn’t really have any friends, but that was her choice. She just went to school and came home. She liked being by herself and staying home, that’s just the way she was.”

   She sat back and leaned up close against him, even though there was plenty of room on the couch. Maybe she had missed him too. He didn’t know if that was true but he decided to pretend it was.

   “If she usually stayed home all the time, why didn’t either of you notice when she started visiting me?”

   “Because she did it on Saturdays. We all did our own thing on Saturdays. I went out with my friends, my dad went out with his friends. We spent Sundays together. She was always there in her room when we got back. We assumed she was just staying home as usual.” Kayla reached over for her pack of cigarettes and lit one up before offering one to Tim, which he accepted. “My dad used to hire this old lady to babysit when we were younger, but it wasn’t really necessary by that time. We weren’t neglecting her, she liked it that way. Having the place to herself, just playing her guitar or reading or watching TV or whatever. And she was always real sensible, she never got into trouble or anything. Not like me.” She looked at him a frowned. “Why are you asking me about all this?”

   “Because it doesn’t make sense. Kids who are so shy they hardly leave the fucking house don’t suddenly decide to trek through the woods alone to a mental hospital to visit someone they never even met before just because of a few letters. It doesn’t make sense. She must have had a reason. Maybe she identified with me somehow. Was she ever hospitalized for anything?”

   She pursed her lips and stared down at the ashtray on the table for a few seconds.

   “The only thing I can think of is when she got glasses, but she was only in there for a few days.”

   “What? She got put in the hospital because she needed glasses? That’s kinda drastic, isn’t it?”

   “No, you don’t understand. It was really strange. Her eyesight just got really bad all of a sudden. It was like overnight. She woke up one morning and said everything was all really blurry. I remember my dad being really worried that it was something serious, like a tumor or something that’d make her go completely blind. So she went into the hospital for tests but they never found nothing. She just needed glasses.” She shrugged. “Just one of those things, I guess.”

   “It was the other way around with me. Which was lucky because I was always breaking my glasses.” He laughed. “My mom used to get so mad at me about it. ‘You clumsy little bastard,’ she used to say, ‘I gotta pay for those.’”

   Kayla looked at him and frowned for a few seconds.

   “I can’t imagine you in glasses,” she said eventually. “Lucie looked so different when she started wearing hers. We almost looked identical before.”

   “So, are there any pictures of her without glasses?”

   “Yeah, but there’s no point in you seeing them. They’re all from way before you met her. She was only eight when all that happened. It was January ‘96. I remember because school had just started up again after Christmas.”

   “That’s weird. That’s when my eyes...” He trailed off and his tone changed from lighthearted to serious. “...got better. It was a couple of weeks after I went into the hospital. Nobody knew why. But there was a lot going on with me at that point, so it kinda got forgotten about.”

   “That is weird.”

   Part of him just wanted to shrug it off as a coincidence, but he had a nagging feeling that there was something more to it. It seemed to fit the pattern of what happened to those he knew in college, who were exposed to That Thing through him. They contracted his flaws to varying degrees. Alex became violent, Brian became obsessive, Jay became paranoid and started having seizures. But all that happened after he had been in contact with them. He didn’t actually meet Lucie until years later. So, it must have just been a coincidence.

   Thinking about his friends at college reminded him of a subject he had been avoiding since his arrival, but he knew he had to bring it up.

   “What did Sarah tell you about me?” he asked after about a minute of silence.

   She sat forward on the couch and shifted uncomfortably, turning away from him.

   “Well, she’s not exactly your biggest fan. Let’s just leave it at that, huh?”

   “Look, I don’t need to be protected from the truth, okay? Just tell me what she said.”

   “She said you used to be friends but you lied to her about something. And something about her friends and family getting hurt because of you.” She turned around and put her hand on his leg. “I didn’t pay any attention to her though, she’s fucking crazy.”

   “How much do you know about her?”

   “Hardly anything. She replied to a message I posted online when I was looking for you. I didn’t even know if Sarah was her real name till I heard you say it. She’s a pharmacist and she drives a red van. That’s all I know.”

   “Do you know where she is now? Is she okay?”

   “I don’t know,” she replied irritably. “I haven’t had any contact with her since just after it all went down at the motel, when you were in the hospital. The phone number I had for her isn’t working anymore. Why do you care after everything she did to you? I know I wasn’t exactly an innocent bystander, but at least I regretted it after. She didn’t. She laughed and made jokes when I told her what happened to you. She’s a vicious, evil bitch.”

   “No, she isn’t.” He shook his head, feeling frustrated at not being able to offer an explanation for his defense of Sarah. “Not really. I know she seems that way now, but she wasn’t always like that. She used to be really nice and friendly.”

   “Yeah, _used_ to be. People change. You’re talking about someone who kicked you in the face and tried to knock you out with a baseball bat.”

   “She did?” he said, putting his fingers up to his lower lip.

   “Oh, yeah, you don’t remember that part, do you?”

   “Wait a minute, so you know about all that?”

   “Sarah explained,” she said sheepishly. “It was a little scary. You don’t talk and you walk with a limp.”

   Fucking great. There was always something new to be embarrassed about. He thought he had all his bases covered, but no. There was always some humiliating conversation just waiting in the wings to bite him in the ass.

   “Yes, I know. He thinks he has a broken leg.”

   “I see,” she said, sounding confused. “Wait, could that have something to do with why you don’t remember Lucie?”

   “No, he wasn’t around back then.”

   “When did it start?”

   “Summer of 2006. I don’t want to talk about it.”

   The words came out in a sharper tone than he had intended, but the specific event that led to the splintering of his personality was something that he would never and had never discussed with anyone. Not Jay, not his doctor, not anyone. Brian had taken that secret to the grave with him and Tim intended to do the same.

   “Look, nobody came out of that situation looking all that great, okay? At least you have the excuse that you couldn’t help it.” She kissed him on the cheek and patted his thigh. “You’re the victim here, Tim, just you remember that.”

   He laughed, her counterproductive attempt at consolation both amusing and depressing him at the same time.

   “What’s so funny?” she asked, a bemused expression on her face.

   “Nothing.” He stopped laughing, her words suddenly weighing on his mind. He leaned forward and stubbed his cigarette out. “Nothing at all.”

   “Let’s change the subject, okay? I don’t want to spend my day off work talking about _that_ and _her._ ”

   “Fine by me.”

   Tim was grateful for the suggestion. Despite all his bluster about not wanting to be protected from the truth, there were still things he preferred to remain oblivious to, and his exploits when his other self took over were among them. He could think about what to do about Sarah another time.

   “By the way, what do you do? I never asked.”

   “Hairdresser.”

   “Really? Are you good?” He unconsciously ran his hand through his hair, shifting it back from his face and bunching it up in his fingers.”

   “Yeah. I went to school for it and everything.” She pointed towards a framed diploma bearing her name on the wall by the window. “You see? My dad put that up there, he was really proud of me.”

   “Do you do guys?” Noticing a smirk spreading across her face, he hastily added, “Hair?”

   “Not usually. Not now Dad’s gone anyhow.”

   “Oh.”

   He felt her elbow digging into his ribs and he turned to her.

   “But I’ll make an exception for you.” She took a lock of his hair between her finger and thumb and stroked it a few times. “If you want me to, that is.”

   “Yes, please. It keeps getting in my eyes and my mouth and pissing me off.” He looked down at into his coffee cup and smiled, enjoying the feeling of her combing her fingers through his hair.

   “What do you want me to do with it?”

   “Well, nothing outrageous. Just trim it. About up to here.” He placed his hand just above his ear, perpendicular to the side of his head. “Short at the back. You know what I mean, right?”

   She got up and walked over to the table in the corner, twisting one of the chairs away from the table. She stood, leaning one hand against the back of it.

   “Sit,” she commanded him, nodding her head towards the chair.

   “You’re gonna do it now?”

   “No time like the present. You said it was bugging you, right?”

   “Yeah.”

   “Well, there’s no point in you suffering any longer than necessary.”

   She disappeared into another room and returned a few seconds later carrying something that looked like a small red briefcase and a pile of white towels, which she put down on the table.

   “What about Lucie’s stuff? I thought we were gonna look through that.”

   “We can do both, we got all day. This won’t take long, I work fast.” She winked at him again, making a clicking sound with her tongue at the same time. “And free for you, baby.”

   “Okay.” He smiled, put his cup of coffee down and walked across to the chair. “Thank you.”

   “After I’ve done this we’ll go out and get some food, if you like. I’m hungry.”

   “Sure.”

   As soon as he sat down, she wrapped a towel around his shoulders and gave him a mirror shaped like a large lollipop to hold. She started combing his hair and he suddenly felt totally contented for the first time in years. He wasn’t really sure why he was enjoying it so much, it wasn’t like he had never had a haircut before.

   He looked at his reflection while the pieces of hair in front of his eyes were cut away revealing more of his face. He twisted the mirror around so he could see her face in it, the expression of concentration something he had never seen in her before. It made her look even more beautiful. Then he knew why this was making him feel so happy.

   For once, he didn’t feel like a sick person who needed to be cared for or pitied, or someone to be used as a source of information, or a weapon to be wielded against a common enemy. She was simply doing him a favor because she liked him. Maybe it didn’t start out that way, and maybe guilt was playing a part in her actions, but he was willing to overlook that. She knew almost everything about him and she still treated him like a normal person. Like a friend.

   He turned the mirror back to himself and smiled.

   “That okay so far?” she asked him. “Or do you want it shorter?”

   “No, that’s okay. I think everything’s gonna be okay.”

    

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quote is from Marble Hornets Entry#58:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wb8BXDWVwYc
> 
> Really sorry about the unexpected break and gap between chapters. I will update again in a few weeks. Thank you very much for your patience. 
> 
> In case anyone is curious, there will be more chapters set in 2006.
> 
> Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


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